My Angel Without Wings
by Surrendered to Christ
Summary: Millionaire CEO Hiko Seijuro takes in an orphaned child for the holidays, and the little redhead turns his life upside down.
1. Found

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin. I simply enjoy kidnapping the characters to amuse myself periodically.

Author's note: Okita is also a main character in the fic, along with Kenshin and Hiko. Many other characters make an appearance.

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Chapter One

"_Found"_

Brown eyes narrowed in concentration as they swept across the room for the fifth time.

This wasn't working at all.

Okita Souji shook his head slightly in resignation as he nudged a ball that had landed at his feet back to its owner, who grabbed it and returned right back to his game without even acknowledging the favor.

He would have never guessed that finding the perfect child in a building jammed full of children would be so difficult! He should have never agreed to this. No, come to think of it, he should have never suggested this in the first place!

It wasn't that he himself couldn't put up with one of these children. But if he brought one of these ill-mannered munchkins back with him...

He'd be kicked out so fast his head would surely spin.

Spinning around abruptly, he went back to the orphanage's main office. The lady looked up with a smile when he entered, then quickly replaced it with a sympathetic frown. "Couldn't find even one, Okita-san?"

"No," Okita gave her an apologetic grin. "I'm sorry. But my employer would never approve."

The lady, Honda-san, grinned back. "No need to apologize, Okita-san. Picking a child to live with is never easy, even if it's only for a month. What exactly did you have in mind? Perhaps I can help."

The young man blinked, realizing that he had never thought about exactly _what _kind of child he would like. He'd just assumed that he'd know when he saw it. Scratching the back on his head in a habitual gesture, he said thoughtfully, "Well, I suppose...a child that's old enough to have some common sense, obedient, well-mannered...bright enough..."

"And being cute would be a nice bonus, ne?"

"Aa, that would be a nice bonus indeed," Okita could only offered her a sheepish grin. "I know I'm asking so much of you, Honda-san…"

"Not at all, Okita-san! Well, I may have a child for you, but I must warn you, no child is perfect. You'll have to take the good with the bad."

"You put it that way, and now I'm scared to meet the kid."

Honda-san chuckled. "Please, this way."

She led him from the office and they traveled down a dimly lit hallway. Presently, they arrived in front of a wooden door, which Honda-san pushed back gently. One look inside and Okita realized it was a small library, stuffed with old, moldy, donated books that probably hadn't seen the light of day in years. The lighting in the room was very weak, giving the place a foreboding hue. Okita did not understand why in the world they were here.

"Honda-san?" he asked, his uncertainty plain in his voice. "Why…?"

"Shh, a moment please, Okita-san."

Okita quieted, and watch with interest as she began picking her way through the small, cluttered room, looking carefully behind battered stuffed chairs, between dusty pillows, and behind molding bookshelves. She moved quietly, as one would when searching for a rare, wild animal.

At lenght, she paused. Glancing back at Okita with a small, reassuring smile, she beckoned him forward. The man obeyed silently, and, upon coming to a stop beside her, he looked down at her find.

There, curled up against a patched and faded pillow was a small child. It was a boy, Okita realized, though he certainly looked very much like a girl. The child was clutching a book in one hand, apparently having been reading before they'd interrupted him. Raising his eyes to the child's face, Okita found himself lost in a pair of wide, bright, amethyst eyes. It lasted only a second, because the little boy quickly tore his gaze away and looked down. But it had been enough: Okita had found enough pain and fear in those otherwise innocent eyes to make him wonder what this little soul had been though.

He felt a touch on his shoulder, and realized Honda-san was trying to get his attention. She patted him twice on the shoulder, offered an encouraging smile, and quietly exited, leaving him alone in the little library with the bright-eyed child.

Uncertain as to where he should even begin to approach this situation, Okita hesitantly lowered himself onto his knees, sitting back on his heels so that he was on eye-level with the boy. It was apparent that he would have to make the first move. The child seemed to be trying very hard to pretend the man was not there.

"Hello," Okita offered, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face. "What's your name, little one?"

The boy glanced up, doubt clearing showing in his expression, mixing in with youthful, innocent curiosity. Okita had the feeling the boy did not want to doubt him at all; his young soul seemed to be reaching out for a comforting hand.

"I'm Okita Souji," the man continued brightly, maintaining a light atmosphere, striving to make the boy as comfortable as possible. "I'm twenty-six. What about you?"

Okita's disarming smile and soft, gentle voice was doing quiet a good job of putting the boy at ease. After only a brief pause, the child held up six chubby fingers in response to the man's last question.

"Six, eh? You're getting to be a big boy!" Okita grinned. "What are you reading there?"

Excitement sparked into the child's eyes at the question; in an orphanage with so many children demanding attention, the shy little child often got overlooked. Now someone seemed interested in him, and his innate nature told him to press his advantage. Still, there was a seed of weariness of strangers implanted in his young heart, not allowing him to be as open as children of his age were prone to be. Instead of speaking, he held out the book, cover up. Okita was impressed when he read _Shiloh_ on the cover.

"That is a good book, isn't it? Do you like dogs?"

The boy nodded, a smile dancing onto his features. It immediately lit up his little face, and Okita instantly decided that a smile fitted him much better than the hesitant expression he had on earlier. He told the boy as much, causing soft cheeks to flush faintly. The beautiful smile did not leave, and the boy seemed to inch closer to this good-natured man.

"Do you like to be read to?"

This question surprised the boy so much he could only stare for a few seconds, before timidly nodding affirmative.

Grinning, Okita scooped the child up into his lap, and he had settled with his back resting against the wall before the boy had a chance to realize what he was doing. He picked up the book, left open at chapter six, and began to read.

Not long after, the child began to relax, and cuddled up against him, his red hair tickling the man's chin. Violet eyes became half-lidded in contentment as Okita's voice rose and fell with the words.

It was a good twenty minutes later when Okita set the book back down. The boy looked up at him questioningly, disappointedly, wondering if it was time for this kind man to leave. He would certainly be very sad if it was.

Instead, Okita began to speak to him, his voice still very soft and gentle as it had been in the beginning. "You know, I work for a company. A big corporation. Do you know what those are?"

Confused but willing to answer, the child nodded.

"It's approaching the holiday season. And we were wondering, would you like to spend a month living at the house of the owner of this company?"

Disbelief instantly washed over the child's features. The boy could not believe his ears, and it showed plainly in his expression. It was so comical and excessively cute, Okita could not hold back a laugh.

"You will have a great time. The house is huge, completed with a great big backyard, your own room, and some of Japan's finest cooks. And," he tweaked the boy's nose, "you may have someone read to you as often as you want."

The boy cocked his head thoughtfully, a slight, adorable frown appearing as he thought about the proposal. After seemingly careful deliberation, he reached up to put a small hand on the man's chest.

"You?"

Okita blinked in surprise: it was the first word the boy had spoken. He could tell the child didn't talk often, the voice was very soft and a bit rusty from lack of use.

"Aa…I will be there too. Is that what you wanted to know?"

The child nodded, then nodded again, now holding a small hand out to him. Okita beamed, wrapping it in his own, much bigger one. "You want to come?"

"Yes."

The man's eyes softened, and he brushed his free hand down the child's cheek.

"What is your name, little one?"

The boy answered without a second's pause.

"Shinta."

xxx

The boy was undeniably shocked and awed.

Okita bit back a laugh, watching Shinta hide behind his legs, clinging to his jeans as though they were a lifeline, peeking out with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Frankly, he was surprised by how easily he'd gained the child's trust. Children who had gone through trauma – and there was no question in his mind that this boy had – were usually very weary of strangers. But Shinta had taken to him after ten minutes. As soon as he sensed Okita was no threat, he followed the man willingly, though he was still very conserved and rather timid.

_He has a trusting nature,_ Okita mused. _Despite what he's had to go through, he trusts easily._

"What do you think, Shinta-chan?" Okita asked cheerfully, ruffling the loose, scruffy, orange-red hair.

"B-b-big," Shinta whispered. Okita had come to the conclusion that the quiet little boy was still uncomfortable with speaking at normal volume. All his words so far had been rare, simple, mostly monosyllabic, and very soft. He hoped it was a habit that would be soon gotten rid of.

Grinning at Shinta's still thunderstruck expression, Okita remarked, "It is, isn't it? Welcome to your home for the next month!" Shinta nodded numbly, still comprehending the fact that in one day, he had gone from living in an orphanage to living in the largest – not to mention only – mansion he had ever set eyes upon in his short life.

"This is Hiko-kun's home and office. He runs the company from here, as he refuses to travel among throngs of people everyday. He sold the company's old office building," Okita explained as he led the child down the stone paved path splitting the lush green front lawn that led towards the grand double doors leading to the inside of the house. "Right now, let's take you to meet Hiko-kun in person. Stick close, kid. You're so small, you'll probably get lost if you wander off."

He hadn't meant to scare the boy, but he succeeded anyway. Shinta's eyes widened even more, though Okita hadn't though it possible. Tiny fists clenched his guardian's pants so hard they turned white. At this, Okita could only chuckle, and turned to give the boy a brief, one-armed hug. "Don't you worry, I was only kidding. Now, let me tell you: Hiko-kun may seem rude and insufferable, but he's a good man somewhere deep down inside, so don't let him fool you, alright?"

Shinta nodded again agreeably. Okita smiled broadly, and led the child inside.

xxxxx

Hiko Seijūrō was _not_ a happy camper.

_Damn _those businesses people! _Damn_ his good-for-nothing board members, _damn_ those sleazy politicians! _Damn them all!_ Dumping all their shit on him after whining enough to rot his ears, expecting him to play peacemaker and miracle worker – just _DAMN!_

He may be a suave, good-looking, twenty-four-year-old genius, but that did not make him immune to headaches and bad moods. If anything, being such a prodigy made him more prone to disgruntled behavior.

As it was, it was not a happy CEO who answered the knock on his door. Well, 'answered' may be a stretch. In reality, all he did was holler, "If it involves negotiating with imbeciles and even more paper work, turn around before I shoot you!" For emphasis, he flung a nearby binder – one of hundreds in his office – at the door with all his strength, which was saying a lot, seeing as how he was almost seven foot tall and built with nothing but pure muscles and bones.

"Maa, maa, Hiko-kun, clam down. It's only me," a familiar voice floated through the polished wooden door, which opened a second later to reveal a young-looking man with black hair tied back in a high ponytail and twinkling brown eyes.

Hiko groaned in relief when he recognized his savior angel. Some days, the overly perky and enthusiastic Okita could be annoying to no end. But on days such as these, he was awfully glad his father had hired the older man. After all, all the work that needed to be done looked much less intimidating when tackled with two geniuses instead of one, though he would never admit that out loud, even if the world were to end – especially if the man in question was anywhere within five miles of hearing distance.

"Okita, it's about time. Where have you been all morning? You know I hate dealing with idiots," Hiko growled, glaring. Used to his behavior after so many years of working together, Okita only grinned, oblivious to the fact that any sane man would have bolted at the sight of an irate Hiko Seijūrō.

"Maa, Hiko-kun. You know perfectly well what I've been doing. Now wipe that scowl off your face before it freezes," Okita admonished cheerfully, flapping a hand airily at him.

Insulted at being treated like a sulky five-year-old, Hiko's scowl only deepened menacingly.

"My, Hiko-_chan!­ _It can't be good for you to be so worked up all the time. Loosen up! Live a little!" Okita flashed the disgruntled man his most brilliant and charming smile, flinging his arms out for emphasis.

Hiko was _not_ in the mood. He would kill whoever had given Okita sugar that morning. Okita was naturally too bouncy for his own good, and for the sanity of the people around him, _no _sugary enhancements were necessary.

"What. Do. You. Want?" the CEO snarled through clenched jaws, speaking in short, choppy sentences, all the while reminding himself that he needed a _live_ Okita, no matter how tempting it was to simply shoot the infuriating man. He would be no use dead.

"I'm here to introduce you to your new housemate for the next month." Without waiting for a response, Okita stepped sideways and reached back to prompt forward the small figure that had been hiding behind him, unnoticed.

For the first time in years, Hiko was stunned speechless. He had completely forgotten the child Okita was supposed to be bringing back. Truth be told, he hadn't been too enthusiastic about the idea, but Okita had insisted, and he had to admit it would be very good for the company's image. Besides, he wouldn't have to deal with the kid. That's what maids were for.

All these thoughts, however, fled from his mind when he found himself staring at the sweetest, most heartbreaking face he had ever seen. Peering back at him were clear, violet eyes, so deep and knowing, yet telling of innocence and willingness to trust that went beyond natural youthful protocols, tainted by wariness implanted by the ruthless nature of the world. Loose, flame red hair framed the soft, delicate face, tumbling liberally down to brush skinny shoulders. A midnight blue sweatshirt three sizes too big enfolded the tiny boy, accenting pale skin, and ending to reveal baggy, faded pants that pooled to the floor, hiding the shoes he must have worn.

Hiko had not known that such beauty and spirit existed in all the world. From deep inside, he felt flaring up an age old instinct to protect this precious child from all that raged around him. That was unusual in itself. Nothing had ever evoked such feelings in him before.

"This is Shinta," Okita announced. "Six years old. A bit shy, but intelligent, obedient, and the cutest in Japan. What do you think?"

"Shinta," Hiko repeated, rolling the name off his tongue, tasting it. It fit the child perfectly. But at the same time, he knew such a soft name would only add to his troubles. The world would not take pity on him and help him up when he fell down. No, it would pick him out and crush him first. 'Shinta' wouldn't do at all. To protect this boy, someone would need to provide him with the strength to protect himself.

"Come here, boy," he commanded in a low voice. After only the lightest pause, Shinta walked forward and faced the man, watching with a clashing mixture of weariness and naive curiosity.

_His soul wants to believe in people. What I wouldn't do to keep him that way forever. What I wouldn't do to blind him from the world. To preserve the spirit that Shinta is._

_Is that selfish? Perhaps so._

_And yet…_

_…and yet, nothing has ever seemed more reasonable and dangerous all at once._

_Someone has to hand the boy a sword and teach him how to wield it in self defense. But truly, the one to place such a weapon in the hands of such innocence would perhaps be considered the worst murderer of all._

_To keep his very soul from being shredded completely, someone would have to change his very being, and instill in purity the seed of doubt and caution._

Reaching forward, Hiko ran a finger down one soft cheek, and tilted the boy's chin up ever so slightly. How he wanted to erase the stain of darkness in those crystal orbs.

"Shinta is too soft a name for a child like you," he whispered, knowing what needed to be done, and hating himself for it. "From now on, you are to be known as 'Kenshin'."

The boy's eyes widened in surprise. Then he blinked, and nodded seriously, showing he understood, accepting his new title.

_Will you hate me later, child? Hate me for taking away the last tie to your childhood? Hate me for taking the first steps towards giving you the harsh lessons you will need to make you a man who can hold his own? You are a sheep among wolves. Will you hate me for helping in dressing you up in wolf's clothing?_

_Will you hate me for taking away the lamb that was Shinta?_

_Even if you do…_

_Better to hate me, whom you will leave in a short while, than be plowed over by the wrath of those you must live among._

For the first time in a long time, Hiko Seijūrō smiled.

xxx

The newly named Kenshin was feeling very overwhelmed.

There were only so many surprises a six-year-old could take in a certain period of time, and this day was seriously taxing his limit.

Everything was so _big_ here! Majestic, grand, elegant, and spotless. Kenshin felt as if merely touching anything would somehow ruin it, and so he kept his hands to himself, limiting himself to his other four senses. Yes, four. The moment he had been introduced to the head cooks, unnervingly identical twins named Tae and Sae, they had declared him the new object of their affections ("He is the most KAWAII little thing I've ever seen!") and proceeded to feed him the most delicious cakes, cookies, and candies he had ever tasted. As a result, his stomach, not used to so much food, had felt cramped for an hour afterwards. It was worth it though. He had never had such a feast in his life.

Okita-san had needed to help Hiko-san with work, he said, and so had left him in the care of a young lady named Omasu. Omasu-san was very nice, and first took him to show him his new room, where he had fifteen minutes of thrill on his new 'trampoline' – the king-sized bed – before she towed him off to the attached bathroom and stuck him in the 'pool' (the bathtub) for a bubble bath. As she busied herself, scrubbing away (all the while muttering about how anyone could let children get into such filthy condition) he sat making little bubble-animals that, sadly, popped before any of them could meet their friends.

After dressing the child in a navy blue t-shirt, a magenta windbreaker, and gray sweatpants, Omasu handed him a pair of _zori_ and allowed him to work off his newfound energy in the forest they called a backyard, calling the reluctant child back only when she deemed it too windy for him to stay out any longer. She then turned him loose after confining him to the mansion's interior.

Soon, Kenshin's wide eyes ached from incessant staring, and he wandered from room to room, marveling at the different discoveries around every corner. So wrapped up in awe was he that he did not realized just how tired and worn out he really was, until it was far too late, and his still-clumsy young body simply staggered backwards.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with him, and thus, by the time he grasped what was happening, the whole thing was already over, and he found himself sitting on the polished wooden floor, his bottom aching from the unscheduled impact, accompanied by a stone statue, the upturned wooden stand it had been resting on, as well as the glinting fragments of what had been a set of glass figurines.

Horror flooded his veins as it dawned on him that _he_ was reason the glass was no longer in one recognizable piece. Guilt immediately started gnawing at his tender heart, screaming things along the lines of, "how could you! Hiko-san entrusted you into his home, and you go and break things on your first day! You're so clumsy, always messing everything up! You're pathetic. _Baka, baka, baka!"_ So it was really no surprise that salty tears instantly flooded his eyes and promptly spilled over.

Out of pure desperation, the boy grasped at the pieces, not even flinching when the sharp, thin edges bit into soft, tender flesh, and attempted to place them back together with trembling fingers. Frustrated, he angrily swiped away from stinging eyes the tears that were blurring up his vision, biting his lip in concentration as he focused on returning the shattered pieces to their rightful places. In his naïve, childish mind formed the firm conviction that if only he could put the figurine together again, the broken pieces would somehow reseal themselves.

But the pieces wouldn't come together, and some had been reduce to powder by the force of the crash. Still, resolutely, he soldiered on, fitting piece after piece. He was the one who had broken it. So therefore, he must also have the power to make things right again. He couldn't make Hiko-san disappointed and regret ever letting him into the home. Gradually, every single piece of glass became tainted with the reddish hue of coppery blood, shed by the little boy who picked them up over and over again in his stubborn refusal to let the pain force him to give up. The tears would not cease to flow, and he blinked them away, occasionally drying his eyes on his sleeve. His cheeks became stained and itchy, his eyes flushed red from crying.

That was how Omasu found him later, working on the razor-sharp pieces of glass, still shedding tears that dripped into his hands, the salty liquid mixing with the coppery blood. Her begs for him to stop fell on deaf ears, and he twisted away from her attempts at forcing him to drop the glass he held. This was _his_ responsibility. He would do his duty. His would make Hiko-san know that he wasn't altogether a bad boy, that he was at least somewhat worthy of living in this magnificent palace.

His heart fell when Omasu hurriedly left, and he became convinced that she would report of Hiko-san what exactly he had done, and how he could not fix it, despite his best efforts. Then Hiko-san would look at him in disappointment, sorry he'd ever taken in such a clumsy child. And he would tell Okita-san to take him back to the orphanage to exchange him for a better one. It was not the return to the orphanage he dreaded so much as the disappointment and regret he would surely see in Hiko-san's eyes. He worked faster, and the glass bit deeper. He needed to finish before Hiko-san arrived!

And then the unthinkable happened. In moving to try and uncover any hidden pieces around that he might have overlooked, he forgot about the fallen statue behind him, and so with another crash, he went tumbling backwards – again – this time cracking his head on the wooden floor. Dislodged from its resting place, the statue skidded forward, and smashed right into what remained of the figurines he had been putting back together.

His young mind went into shock. Stunned violet eyes stared uncomprehendingly at the statue – once again laying still, its unblinking eyes looking at him blankly, innocently. As though they had a will of their own, his legs pushed him off the floor, and he walked over in a detached state, as though in a dream, until he was staring down at the completely powered remnants of what had once been glass, scattered in disarray.

Reality came crashing down, and drove him to his knees. Without warning, the tears, which had been subsiding, came back full force, and with a vengeance. Clenching the last piece of glass, which had survived due to the fact that he had been holding it in his tiny fists before disaster struck, he finally gave up, and curled up into a tiny ball, sobbing. Hiko-san would never let him stay now.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and a hand came to touch his back gently, brushing away the loose hair around his shoulders. "Kenshin?" It was a soft, male voice, and it was very gentle. Okita-san. He shrank further into himself in his shame. "G-gomennasai, Okita-san, I really didn't mean it! I mean – that is – it wasn't on purpose, it wasn't! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know I'm a bad boy. Gomennasai!" he all but wailed, trembling like a leaf in autumn.

There was silence, and Kenshin flinched despite himself. Okita-san must be so sorry he picked this boy. So sorry that he wasn't even speaking to him anymore. The silence stretch out, and Kenshin fidgeted, waiting for a response, a reproach, that did not come. When he could take the suspense no more, he asked timidly, "Are you…are you gonna take me back?"

There was an almost inaudible sigh, followed by a deep, rumbling voice. "Do you _want_ to go back?"

Startled, Kenshin looked up, his heart jumping when he realized that it wasn't Okita-san, but Hiko-san behind him.

"H-Hiko-san, gomennasai! I really, really didn't mean to!" he gasped, panicking again.

Hiko mentally groaned, wishing now that he hadn't let Okita go off for the bandages. He did not like to deal with children. In fact, they rather scared him, though this may have had something to do with the fact that he had no experience whatsoever in that area. He could take on the greatest snob and conman in the business world without batting an eyelid, but give him a kid, especially a worked-up one at that, and watch him back away cringing. His mind worked furiously, trying to provide him with a way to get this boy to stop kicking himself over something so trivial.

Given the pressing issue of time, Hiko could only come up with one single solution. And having no choice, he decided it was his best shot. Anything to make the boy stop sniveling! Double checking that no one was nearby, he reached over and pulled Kenshin into his lap, wrapping strong, but uncertain and inexperienced arms around the frail body, all the while reminding himself that as long as no one saw, it would not get out that Hiko Seijūrō had a heart.

"Kenshin, hush. No more crying. I asked you, do you want to go back?"

Kenshin had not been held like this, so warmly, so securely, since so very long ago. His young body immediately responded, relaxing, melting into the embrace, the tension fleeing from his muscles, the tears ceasing in their flow, and the troubles unconsciously, subtly, withdrawing from his mind. Aware the Hiko-san was awaiting an response, he gave a completely honest answer, hiding nothing.

"No."

Hiko looked down thoughtfully at the child in his arms. "Then why would I send you back?"

"Because," he hesitated for a second, "because, I broke – I broke those." He gestured to the remains of the figurines.

"Not on purpose, I gather," Hiko replied dryly, recalling what Kenshin had been rattling off earlier. The boy nodded in agreement, watery eyes gazing at him hopefully.

"I won't punish you for that, Kenshin, you didn't mean it. You said so yourself. Everyone makes mistakes. If you did it intentionally, I would punish you. But not for an accident. Do you understand?" Hiko turned a firm gaze on the boy. He had to understand this.

Kenshin nodded again. "I am very sorry," he repeated softly, sniffling.

"I know. You told me. Multiple times," Hiko replied. A large, calloused, but gentle hand reached out to cradle a small fist that still held on to the shard of broken glass. Hiko's eyes grew somber and clouded as he examined the many thin lines of red liquid seeping out of the soft, punctured skin of the child's hands. It was worse than he had thought.

"Baka, why didn't you just leave the glass alone? Doesn't it hurt?" the man asked incredulously.

"I…I thought, if I put it back together, it would be alright. I only wanted to make things good again," Kenshin explained in youthful honestly and simplicity, as if that was the most reasonable thing anyone could have done.

"Baka!" Hiko moaned, resisting the urge – once again – to slap his forehead. "Once glass is broken, it can't be whole again until someone melts it back down to liquid. And no, before you asked, we are _not_ going to do that! I have more than enough of these ridiculous china dolls in this place, anyway. I'm not going to miss these. And next time you break something, tell someone. Don't mutilate yourself trying to piece it together again!" Hiko couldn't believe this kid. Any sane child would have stopped trying once they got hurt. But no, this one goes and cuts himself ten times over trying to make things whole. Hiko was both highly impressed and very exasperated.

"Let's just get you cleaned up," the man sighed again, carrying the boy out after making him drop the piece of glass he seemed to want to hold on to forever – though for what purpose, Hiko could not fathom. Gut instinct told him he was going to be in for one heck of a time with this bright spirited and, it would seem, stubborn little boy.

* * *

_Japanese Glossary:_

**Baka: **Idiot, fool

**-chan: **Honorific. Can be used either as a diminutive (as in with a small child), or with those who are grown, to indicate affection

**Gomennasai: **"I am sorry"

**Hiko Seijūrō: **The young, twenty-four years old millionaire and CEO of a giant corporation. At the urgings of his advisor, Okita, he decides to take in an orphaned child for the holidays. He's a loner at heart, and had no intentions of taking over the company. He was forced into the position when his father, the previous CEO, passed away.

**Kenshin/Shinta: **The child Okita chose to spend the holidays at Hiko's mansion. He's six years old, small for his age, and (at least in Hiko's opinion) way too innocent for his own good. His original name was Shinta, until Hiko renamed him during their first meeting. 'Kenshin' means 'heart of the sword', with 'ken' being 'sword' and 'shin' meaning 'heart'.

**-kun: **Honorific. Used in modern day Japan among male students, or those who grew up together. Another usage is the "superior to inferior" form, intended to emphasize difference in status or rank, as well as to indicate familiarity or affection.

**Okita Souji: **The very bouncy, very energetic, and very enthusiastic advisor/assistant CEO to Hiko. He was hired by Hiko's father, and has known Hiko for a long time. He's twenty-six and has a brilliant mind.

**-san: **Honorific. The English equivalents would be "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Miss," but it is used more extensively in Japanese. (Note: even an enemy may be addressed as "-san")

**Zori: **Sandals

Note: Source used for some of the above definitions is the glossary in the back of Rurouni Kenshin vol. 9

Well, that's chapter one. Kinda...sappy? Well, please review. Any comment is helpful and much, much appreciated. Thanks!


	2. Snow

Wow! So many wonderful reviews! I'm so happy. Thank you so much to all of you!

So, here's chapter two. Hope you find it as good as - if not better than - the last one!

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin

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**Chapter Two**

"_Snow"_

The boy was crying.

Hiko stood outside the room, listening to the muffled, heart-wrenching sounds. It had been many years since the man had been at a loss for what to do. And yet, in these past four days, the feeling had become almost to be expected, a constant companion. It followed like a clingy shadow the little boy who had walked so suddenly into his life.

Hiko wondered now whether he should interfere and chase away the demons plaguing the child, or simply let him cry himself back to sleep. Let it be known that Hiko Seijūrō was not a sentimental man. He simply did not, _could_ not do 'heart-to-heart' talks and actions. Here was a man who was the very definition of 'loner', preferring to stay away from other human life, even going out of his way to avoid anything resembling social contact. Bonding was dangerous. It led to far too many undesired complications, chances of getting hurt, and, perhaps worse, hurting others. So it was no surprise that he had no experience with comforting upset children, especially in the dead of night.

He had a suspicion the fierce storm currently raging outside was responsible – at least in part – for the state Kenshin was in. Three nights had already come and gone without a problem, although that may also have been due to the fact that in getting used to his new surroundings, the pure exhaustion at the end of each day had kept the dreams and nightmares at bay.

Hiko sighed and rubbed his temples – a gesture used more frequently now than ever, it seemed, what with the busy holiday season upon them, added with his new houseguest, it wasn't exactly shocking he was getting more headaches. He needed to go back to sleep. Work was waiting for him come morning. And it was now clear that there would be no sleeping for him as long as Kenshin was awake. He could hear the crying from his room next door, and his conscience would kill him if he walked away now.

Mind made up, the young CEO gathered his courage, and opened the door to walk straight into dark, unknown territory.

It was quite gloomy inside, he decided, despite the glow from the small night-light in the corner. Okita had placed it there after Kenshin had confessed to being afraid of the dark. It seemed the child did not realize anyone had walked in; at least, he did not pause in his crying. Hiko identified a blanket-covered lump that looked painfully small in the middle of the too-big bed as the source of his troubles. Walking over, footsteps muffled by the carpet and the howling wind and splattering rain, he paused for a minute by the side of the bed, before reaching over to place a hand on the trembling, whimpering bulge that was completely hidden under a mound of soft fabric.

"Kenshin?"

The boy in question let out a startled yelp, and Hiko felt him physically jump. "H-Hi-Hiko-san?" the tiny, quivering voice inquired from beneath the blankets. Judging from the harsh breathing, Hiko knew he had unintentionally scared the living daylights out of the poor boy.

"Kenshin, what are you doing?" the man chose to ignore the boy's question, knowing perfectly well that Kenshin was aware it was him. He mentally told the guilt that had flared up when he realized he had frightened the child to settle down.

After a pause, the little red-haired head squirreled out from the nest he had made for himself to peer up at the CEO with wide, watery orbs. After assuring himself that it was indeed Hiko next to him, the boy rubbed his tired eyes, and answered, "I – I had nightmares."

_I thought as much_. "This happens often?"

Kenshin looked down, curling back up into a ball, permitting only his messy red locks to peek out from under the covers. As a result, his response was muffled. "Sometimes. Sometimes, when I'm remembering, or when something…something _happens_. I don't know." Not knowing exactly what he meant, Hiko stayed silent, hoping for more. After a pause, Kenshin added quietly, "I don't like storms."

There was something he could work off. "Why?"

Violet eyes reappeared, looking solemnly at him. Then the boy shifted onto hands and knees, and crawled into the young man's lap, dragging the blankets with him. In the end, Hiko found himself sitting crossed-legged on the bed, half-covered with blankets and his arms full of Kenshin. It was a full minute or two after they'd settled down that the child replied to his inquiry. He started it with, "You oughtn't tell anyone."

"Why?" Hiko asked again, bewildered.

"It's a secret," was the serious answer. Kenshin lifted his face from where it had been buried in the man's nightshirt to look him in the eyes. His expression was so grave and somber and Hiko immediately knew he wasn't exaggerating one tiny bit, that this really _was_ a big secret, and he was probably one of the only people Kenshin had confided in. "All right," he said, just as seriously, "I promise I will not tell."

Kenshin nodded, satisfied. Then he leaned up, tucking his head right beneath Hiko's chin. In a natural response to the intimate, trusting gesture, the man wrapped his arms securely around the tiny boy. And then Kenshin spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper, and yet Hiko had no trouble hearing him. "'Touchan was killed in a storm."

Right then and there, Hiko decided that this boy was made entirely out of nothing but surprises.

"He…a storm killed him?"

"No," Kenshin corrected sternly. "He was killed _in_ a storm."

"Killed…" Hiko's breath caught in his throat. Not killed _by_ a storm, killed _in_ a storm. 'Killed', not 'died'. As in..." Murder, Kenshin?"

Hiko had always been a rather blunt man, preferring to shot straight for the point and not linger and dawdle, but later, looking back, he would berate himself for outright using such a _harsh_ word; unsuitable, no doubt, for Kenshin's young ears. As it was, the little body pressed against his shuddered. "Not that word, Hiko-san, can't use that word. Kaachan said. 'Never let me hear that word when talking about your father,' she said."

Which was perfectly reasonable, Hiko concluded, as the boy was far too naïve to be able to fully comprehend all the meanings stuffed into that word to use it correctly. "That is what your mother told you? That he was killed in a storm?"

"She didn't need to tell, Hiko-san," Kenshin murmured, and Hiko felt another tremor run through his scrawny muscles. "I saw it."

"What?" the man gasped before he could stop himself, stunned, outraged at the very idea that a child as trusting and pure as Kenshin would have seen such atrocities. Many grown man went through life without seeing a single soul lost to another human being. Why Kenshin? Of all the people out there, why this little boy?

"I was there. It started raining, and we needed to finish the harvest, see, because we were goin' to take it to town the next day to sell. We're farmers," he added as an afterthought. "So we were all outside helping Touchan, me and my brothers. Kaachan was making dinner. Sukiyaki." His voice took on an almost dreamy quality, and Hiko knew he could still place himself back in time, the memory was still so fresh and raw. "Touchan was just telling us we could go back inside, because the rain was really pouring, and he didn't want us to catch colds. And then…" he shifted, burying his face into Hiko's chest. "There was a shot. It went _bang!_ And Touchan stumbled. A man walked up. He had a gun, and he started yelling. I…I didn't hear what he said, because Haru nii-san grabbed me and told 'Kuya nii-chan to take me inside and take Kaachan and run for it. But then I heard more _bangs_. And I looked." He let loose a small whimper, before continuing. "There was blood _everywhere_. And Haru nii-san was going to Touchan, but then Touchan yelled at him to leave, and he turned and shoved us inside. We took Kaachan and left."

The child drifted into silence, and Hiko was left to sort out his own thoughts. Kenshin had never talked about his family before. This didn't sound like a random shooting. Why would someone have gone after his father? Who would have wanted the man dead so badly that they'd taken the trouble to go all the way out into the country to shoot him? Hiko had to know.

"Kenshin. Who did it? Do you know? Do you know…why?"

"Dunno, Hiko-san. My brothers did, and Kaachan did, but they never told me." Kenshin made it plain that he would never have thought about pressing for information his family did not freely give him. They knew best, after all.

Hiko frowned. What other way did he have to find out? "Did your family have a surname? A family name?"

Kenshin nodded, glad Hiko was asking something he could give an answer to. "Himura. Papa was Himura Shinsuke."

"I see," Hiko murmured. The rain was dying down a bit, and the wind had calmed down to a low whistle instead of the full blown howls it had been. "Can you sleep now, Kenshin? You need to rest."

"I'm afraid of the dreams, Hiko-san," the boy admitted. "I don't want to see them again."

"They won't visit. Think good thoughts." He made to ease the boy off so that he could stand up, but Kenshin grabbed his shirt. "Stay, Hiko-san? Please?"

The man sighed, and relented. "Only until you fall asleep, though."

Kenshin smiled contently. "I understand, Hiko-san. Arigatou. Oyasuminasai."

"Oyasumi, Kenshin. Sleep well."

Xxxxxx

Violet eyes stared incredulously down at the wooden device held with uncertain, unaccustomed fingers.

Kenshin's young mind tried valiantly to figure out just _why_ Hiko-san had made him dress in a white-and-black traditional uniform, and proceeded to thrust a big long stick into his hands.

Said man was currently making sure the whole house knew to say away from the room they were in by thrusting a big sign on the wooden door that said in bold, capitalized letters, DO NOT DISTURB. And although Kenshin could not read it, he could tell it was not a thing to be messed with.

When his efforts to make sense of his currently situation produced no recognizable results, the boy decided he may as well just throw caution to the wind and ask the man straight out. "Hiko-san? What does this stick do?"

The man snapped his head around, an intimidating frowned plaster to his face. "That is not a _stick_ you're holding, baka!" he growled, clearly vexed that anyone would dare to insult the item in such a crude way. "That is a _bokken_, and you'd do well to remember it, too!" Rather it was for emphasis or just a timely coincidence, Hiko slammed the door shut just as he finished that sentence, causing Kenshin to visibly flinch.

"Go-gomennasai!" the child squeaked, reasonably afraid for his life since Hiko was now glowering down at him, and when placed next to each other, they may be accurately compared to a mountain and an ant. A skyscraper and a shack. A whale and a sardine. An elephant and a flea. You get the idea. So it was no surprise that Kenshin was feeling like his head was about to be taken off at any moment. The fact that Hiko was wearing a magnificent white cloak over his gi that made him look even bigger – much like Superman – combined with a full length Japanese katana thrust into his obiwas _not_ helping to ease his intimidating image.

The giant man grunted, seeming to decide that he wouldn't like a child for breakfast, and knelt down on the polished wooden floor, sitting back on his heels. There was a moment of stretching silence, before Hiko realized that Kenshin was not going to take the hint and follow suit. "Sit down, baka," he commanded in a long-suffering tone, wondering just what had possessed him to get into the same room with the kid alone. Hell, the boy was cute and bright, he would silently admit that, but sometimes, he could be infuriatingly dense.

The child copied Hiko and knelt on the floor, cradling his bokken in his arms, playing with it. He was immediately correct. "No, Kenshin, bokken right next to you. We have respect for our weapons." Hiko gestured to his own katana, placed gentle at his side. Kenshin immediately mimicked him, setting his bokken down as if he had suddenly realized it was some sort of holy relic.

Hiko frowned slightly, wondering how best to tackle this situation. He had decided on that first day to give the boy a sword to defend himself with. He hadn't meant literally. It had never occurred to him to teach the child kenjutsu. He had been thinking more along the lines of some face-to-face meetings with the hard truth. But after last night, he realized the boy may do better with something physical, something he could use to protect the life of others, and, in the process, himself. The boy had a bright, clean spirit and a strong will. He should do well.

So here he was, faced with a boy much too small, skinny, and innocent for his age, who had no knowledge of swords whatsoever. Maybe that's where he should start. "What do you know about kenjutsu, boy?"

Kenshin blinked. "They play with swords," he stated matter-of-factly.

Hiko resisted the urge to slap his forehead. Not good. If he was so frustrated only two minutes into the game, he would never last. "Not _play_, baka! Never _play_. Swords are not toys. They are tools, and whether they are good or bad is up to the wielder. Do you see that?"

The boy nodded, violet eyes serious. At least he could pay attention better than most boys his age.

"Starting today, I will train you in the ways of kenjutsu. Specifically, Hiten Mitsurug-ryuu, of which I am a master. It is an ancient style, hundred of years old, and it is my most precious knowledge. Kenshin," the boy locked gazes with him at the sound of his new name. "Do you accept? This journey, should you decide to embark on it, will not be easy, even if you will only stay with me for a month. To wield a sword is a thing of many responsibilities. You must understand that."

Without hesitation, the child gave a firm nod. "I understand, Hiko-san."

The man gave a ghost of a smile. "Good. Then we will start immediately. You don't have much time." He stood up gracefully, and this time, Kenshin had the sense to do the same.

"Hiko-san?"

"Yes?"

"It's like you said, I'm only going to be here for a month. Is that enough time?" the child inquired curiously.

"Not to master the style. Not even enough to scratch the surface of the art. But it's a start."

"Oh." There was an all-too-brief pause, before, "Hiko-san?"

"What now?"

"Are you a shishou?"

The man blinked, taken back by the randomness of the question. "Huh?"

"I read somewhere, they call teachers of kenjutsu 'shishou'. So, are you a shishou?"

"I suppose so. Stand like I am standing, Kenshin." He demonstrated the pose.

"Then can I call you shishou?" the child asked, while frowning as he tried to copy the man exactly.

"If you wish. Move your legs further apart! Shoulders open, muscles relaxed. No, not like, _that!_ They can't be tense, but not like you're made out of jell-o! Baka deshi! Can't you do anything right?"

xxxxx

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Hiko nodded with satisfaction. Now he was getting somewhere. Taking a sip of coffee from the mug sitting patiently next to his computer, he sighed, before setting the caffeinated drink back down and sitting up straight. No point drinking all that coffee so early. He had a feeling he just might be needing it a few hours from now. He rubbed his hands together, then guided the cursor on the screen to the first result.

_Click_

He prayed that whatever divine being was listening would grant him an easy time. Otherwise, it was going to be a long night.

xxxxx

"Hiko-kun, you look quite tired."

The aforementioned man groaned, shielding his face as the sunlight streaming in from the open window eagerly attacked his poor, defenseless eyes.

"It is past seven in the morning. It is most definitely time to rise and shine."

"Go away, Okita. _Please."_

"Don't say such things, Hiko-kun, you're beginning to scare me. First I go into the office, and for once, I've beaten you there. Then I find out you haven't eaten breakfast, haven't even showed up for you coffee. And _then_ I come in, worried, to find you're still asleep at _seven o'clock_ in the morning! Do you know how unnatural these events are, Hiko-kun? Do you understand how much it mortifies me to see you in bed instead of in front of the computer? You'll give me a heart attack from shock. So, I beg of you, do not start being polite and saying 'please' on top on everything else. I am feeling quite petrified already. If the world were to crash, burn, and end right here and now, I do not think I would be too surprised. So, for the sake of my well-being, please hurry out of bed so I can go back to pretending nothing is out of the ordinary."

"For the sake of your own well-being, you would shut up," Hiko hissed savagely, groping for a clean shirt he could change into. Finding one he'd strewn carelessly on a nearby chair the night before, he stumbled into his bathroom like a drunkard, remembering by some miracle to snatch a pair of pants from the closet on the way. A moment later, the shower could be heard being turned on.

Okita shook his head wonderingly. He hadn't been joking when he'd said he was scared. If nothing else, Hiko Seijūrō was a man of routine. In fact, to some extent, he actually feared change. Every morning, he got up before the sun even began to peek over the horizon, ate breakfast, had three mugs of coffee, ran through his kata, and was at the computer by six thirty sharp. When Okita arrived at seven o'clock, he was at his computer, typing away. That was how things should be. It was how things _had_ been for the past four years, since Hiko's father had passed away and left the company's to his son's hands, however unwilling they may have been. It was common knowledge that Hiko had never wanted the job. It was also common knowledge that despite this, he was the best candidate for the position in all of Japan.

_Perhaps he's sick, _Okita mused, although he seriously doubted any illness would have the power to keep the man in bed. He wasn't even sure if Hiko was vulnerable at all to things such as viruses and bacteria. He wasn't exactly a normal human being.

All in all, something very serious must be up for Hiko to sleep in till eight.

Okita was still listing possibilities for the sudden upset of normal routine (he was currently at possibility number seventy-three: Hiko had finally discovered the wonders of sex) when the reason for the list's existence himself walked back into the room. Washed and dress, he looked much more alert, though a bit of grogginess still lingered like an over-friendly parasite. Without a word, he stalked through the door Okita hadn't bothered to close when coming in, and disappeared down the stairs towards his required daily coffee, his friend trailing at his heels. But if Okita was hoping for some sort of explanation for the highly unusual late start to the day, he was to be disappointed. The giant man stayed silent as he made his way into the kitchen, grabbed his patiently waiting coffee, and, after downing the first two mugs in under two minutes, he strode towards his office, refilled mug in hand. Deciding he would wait and see if his questions would answer themselves, Okita followed suit as Hiko booted up his PC and dove straight into the pill of work awaiting him.

Though the two didn't know it yet – Hiko would probably have ran away as fast as he could and hid in a closet if he had known – the day was jammed pack full of surprises and things out of the ordinary, and Hiko's sleeping in was only just the beginning.

They had barely begun to settle down into the normal routine when the office door flew open, bringing about the twist that would effectively end any chances of their catching up on lost time and finishing what needed to be done for the day.

"Shishou!" squealed the little boy who had appeared at the door, that being Hiko's only warning before the bundle of energy flew forward and tackled him into a huge hug. "Shishou!" Kenshin yelled again, rattling the poor man's abused eardrums, "It _snowed,_ Shishou, look! Look outside, look outside, it _snowed!_ It _SNOWED!_"

"Kenshin!" It was probably the last thing the frazzled CEO needed right now – a little six-year-old bursting with a seemingly limitless reservoir of energy, refreshed by a good night's sleep and fueled by the blueberry pancakes drowned in maple syrup he had had for breakfast. "Kenshin, get off! I'm trying to work, baka deshi!"

"But it _snowed_, Shishou! It's all white outside! There's snow _everywhere!_ Look, you have to look!" the hyped up child insisted, tugging persistently on Hiko's long bangs that framed his face. If he noticed at all the dangerous scowl on the man's face, he ignored it completely, unfazed, now bouncing up and down on the older male's lap.

"Kenshin," Hiko growled out slowly in a low, rumbling voice. "Get. Off. Now."

His threat had no impact whatsoever on the too-excited boy, who not only tossed the command out the window, but increased both the pitch and volume of his already too-high-too-loud voice. "You HAVE to look, Shishou, look look look! There's snow all over! The trees are _white_, they're all white! It's sooooooo pretty! Look, _look!_" He pointed wildly at the drape-covered window, in the process nearly knocking himself off from his precarious perch on Hiko's lap. "Look, Shishou! Looklooklooklooklooklooklooklook!"

"Kenshin," Okita interrupted the child hurriedly, noting with worry Hiko's rapidly coloring face. He didn't think even Hiko would have enough self control to deal rationally with the boy. "Kenshin-chan, hang on a moment. Give Hiko-kun a break, huh?"

"But Okita-san, he has to look! It snowed!" Kenshin pointed out, as if afraid the two adults could have somehow missed this fact despite his having screamed it repeatedly over the past two minutes.

"Yes, Kenshin, I know, I came in from outside this morning," Okita said in a calming voice, patting the child on the head. Kenshin was apparently not satisfied with this, because he insisted, "You look!" again, as though it didn't count if Okita had seen it until he saw it with _him_.

"Alright, alright, I'll look. Let's look together," Okita said, hoping to placate the child, and made his way over to the window with Kenshin secure in his arms, where he couldn't run back to tormenting Hiko. He pulled back the drapes, allowing them both a full view of the backyard.

Kenshin had every right to be thoroughly impressed. It was a splendid view. Everything in sight was covered with a smooth, glimmering, undisturbed layer of soft, powdery snow, which undulated with the natural curves of the landscape. The trees were coated and flecked with white, snow-laden branches drooping slightly. It was like a giant piece of blank paper, telling of endless, undreamed possibilities.

The sight pacified Kenshin like a pacifier would an infant, sending him into speechless awe. He huddled against Okita's chest, staring outside with his bright violet eyes.

"It's very pretty," Okita murmured, impressed as well.

"I've never seen snow before," Kenshin whispered. "At least, not clean snow like this. Only slush, and that was no fun, because it got into your socks and you couldn't make anything with it."

Okita smiled. "You want to play in it?" he inquired, sensing the child's unspoken wish.

"I don't want to ruin it, though," the boy replied, looking up briefly at him. "It's so perfect."

"It'll all melt anyway. Best use it while it's still there." Okita placed him back on the floor, assured he wouldn't attack Hiko again. "Get Omasu-san to dress you right, and you can go out."

"I want you to come too. And Shishou. Let's go together!" He clapped his hands twice, excitement returning.

"Kenshin, we have work," Okita explained, trying to usher the boy out. "We are very busy."

"Take a day off," boy suggested bluntly, refusing to budge.

"Baka, we can't just take off whenever we want to. We have important things awaiting us," Hiko spoke up, still glaring at the child, though perhaps not as sternly as he had been. "Go by yourself."

"Demo, _Shishou!_" the child pouted, turning his best puppy-dog eyes on the CEO, clasping his hands together, every bit the picture of unsung innocence. "Please, just one day. Onegai, just one day! Then you'll have all tomorrow to work!" he pleased pitifully.

"Baka deshi, we are busy men. We have a company to run," Hiko avoided looking into those shimmering amethyst orbs, which he was convinced could cast a spell on whoever was foolish enough to meet them.

Kenshin's head dropped, and Hiko didn't need to look to know tears had sprung into his eyes. "What good is being the head of a company if you can't even get out to play once in a while?" he muttered dejectedly, kicking at the carpeted floor. "At least Touchan used to play with me, even if he was very busy and never got much money."

The boy hadn't meant to use guilt as a weapon. That thought hadn't even crossed his mind. But his youthful lack of tact served him better than hours of whining and begging would have done. The onslaught of shame and guiltiness washed over not only Hiko, but Okita as well, and both stared at the child who still refused to look at them. It had never occurred to either one that in the past eight days alone, Kenshin had already taken to thinking of them as not only temporary caretakers, but as his new _family,_ and in his childish naïveté, he unashamedly and openly expected from them at least some of what his deceased parents might have given him. And sharing with him a day of new experiences was one of those things. Hiko had never though that the boy could have ever gotten so attached. His thought had been that the kid would live here for a month, be taken care of by his maids, and left when time was up. There would have been no need for personal contact. But somehow, it had only taken a week for the once shy little boy to snag his heart. Kenshin had become so much more open, blooming like summer pedals right before his eyes.

How in the world could he say _no_ when Kenshin worded his request like that?

Unbeknownst to either of them, Okita had been thinking along the exact same lines. Being the more outspoken of the pair, it was he who broke the silence. "Kenshin? Go get Omasu-san to dress you for going outside. We'll meet you at the front door, alright?"

The boy looked up, hope shinning in his watery eyes. "You'll play? Really?"

Okita grinned, relieved that a smile was back on that cherubic face. "Really. Hurry now."

"Hai!" He had taken two steps out the door, before dashing back to give first Okita, then Hiko, a suffocating hug. "Thank you so much!" he gushed, before sprinting back out the door with a whoop, calling for Omasu at the top of his lungs, his energy having returned with a vengeance.

Hiko shook his head, sinking slowly back into his heat, burying his face in his palms. "That boy is going to be the death of me," he muttered.

"Well, life won't end if we take a day off. When was the last time we had a vacation?" Okita grinned brightly. "This'll be good for all three of us."

Hiko only grunted.

"Hey, by the way, why was he calling you 'Shishou'?"

Hiko glanced up. "I'm teaching him kenjutsu."

"Hiten Mitsurugi? Seriously?" Okita's eyebrows shot skywards. "I never thought you'd be passing it on."

"He needs it," Hiko whispered, more to himself than to his friend.

Okita studied him for a moment, before going over to place a hand on his shoulder. "He needs many things, Hiko-kun. Not only a Shishou, but also a parent as well."

The giant man shuddered slightly. "I can't stand kids, Okita, you know I can't. It's only for a month. Nothing more."

Okita smiled softly. "Knowing that, let's make the best of the time we have, however short it may be. Be his father for him, Hiko-kun, be it for an hour, a day or a month. Right now, it is all that he wants."

Xxx

It was a very spent and worn out little boy who crawled between the warm covers many hours later. His muscles were strained, their limits having been reached, and they cried out for a rest. Despite this, stretched on Kenshin's face was the most content smile he had worn in a long time

He hadn't had such fun since the days when his family had been whole and well. Those days seemed so very long ago now.

His thoughts, however, were not on the distant past, but on the newly made memories he had been blessed with. Memories that were to stay with him for many years to come.

He sighed, his eyelids already dropping, heavy with the promise of sleep.

Outside, it was snowing again. Softly, fluffy drops floated to the earth, as light as feathers. He remembered with a tired grin how they melted on his tongue like sweet, honey-buttered sugar.

"Oyasumi, Kenshin." He heard the husky, gentle voice from far away, already deep into the recess of his subconscious mind.

"Oyasumi, Shishou," he heard himself whisper back, before his eyes slid shut completely.

There were no nightmares that night. Instead, he dreamed of warmth, of a sloping landscape, coated with dazzling white that was not blinding, but pleasant to the eyes, and stretching as far as one could see.

* * *

_Japanese Glossary_

**'Baka deshi'**: idiot apprentice/student

**Bokken**: wooden sword, used for training

**Demo**: but

**Kaachan**: From the word 'okaasan' for 'mother'. Basically, affectionate term for 'mother' much like 'mommy' or 'mama.'

**Katana**: traditional Japanese longsword of the samurai.

**Kenjutsu**: fencing, swordmanship

**Nii-chan**: affectionate term for 'big bother'

**Nii-san**: big brother

**Onegai**: from 'onegaishimasu', the formal form of 'please'

**Oyasuminasai**: Goodnight

**Shishou**: master, teacher

**Sukiyaki**: Japanese dish, beef cooked with vegetables

**Touchan**: from the word 'otousan', honorary word for 'father.' Basically, affectionate term for father, much like 'daddy' or 'papa.'

If I made a mistake with using any Japanese words, please let me know so I can fix it...I've never actually taken a Japanese class. Everything I know, I picked up from reading fanfiction...

Remember to review! Thank you again!


	3. Interlude

_**Author's note:** **Please be aware that this chapter was NOT part of the original story**. It is an intermission of sorts, added after the first three chapters were written. This fic was originally intended as a one shot, before it spiraled out of control and had to be divided into chapters. I wanted to keep the story's original format, though, but in a chapter story there're so many more details that can be added. Thus, this 'chapter' was created. It is set right between the first two chapters. The chapter after this will be once again part of the original story._

_This chapter was also partly the result of the authoress' immense boredom. Its tone may be a little different from the main story's._

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin did not, does not, and will not belong to me. Ever.

* * *

**_Chapter ½_**

"_An Interlude"_

* * *

'Continuous'

Bounce. Float. Sink. Bounce

_It just keeps going, and going…_

Disconnect. Join. Disconnect.

_Over and over…_

Up. Down. Up.

_Ah – there it goes! It's separating again!_

Stretch. Stretch. Reach.

_Slowly…carefully…_

Thin. Narrow. Split.

_Every single one was just so perfect. No flaws. So pretty._

Waver. Pause. Swim.

_Preeeeetty._

Twirl. Reflect. Twirl.

_Orange. Violet. Violet-orange. Orange-violet._

And disconnect. Join. Up. Down. Repeat.

_And yet…every single time was so unique._

Xxx

"Hiko-kun, it seems too quite around here. Where's Kenshin-chan?"

"He found the lava lamp. Let's see…it's been four hours, forty-six minutes, twelve seconds, and counting."

* * *

'Midori' 

He stared.

And he stared some more.

He could have _sworn_ he saw something move.

He glanced up nervously. _Surely_ they didn't expect him to –

They did.

He could tell. They were all looking at him with, well, _expectancy_ clear in their eyes

He couldn't believe it. They must all be insane.

_He _must be insane. What was he _doing_ here?

Yes. They were all crazy. That was the only plausible solution.

He actually had to _do_ this?

"Aren't you going to eat?"

He glanced up with a very nervous, forced, tight-lipped smile. "Ah…well…"

"You don't like it?"

He faltered. What on earth was he supposed to say? The world was having fun with him, surely.

"It's…not that…I…"

"You don't like it."

"Well, no…No it's just…I've never seen anything…_quite_ like this before…" It was a lame excuse, and he knew it.

"Well, aren't you going to try it?"

They couldn't be serious!

"But…but…it's_ green,_" he said weakly, stating what was already quite obvious.

"That's how it's supposed to be," his other captor said matter-of-factly. Oh yeah? If you're so sure, why're you waiting for _me_ to take the first bite!

"Hiko-san?"

Oh, he could not _believe_ he was actually going to do this! He'd been woken up at four-thirty in the morning for _this! _No, it did _not_ matter that he usually woke up around this time anyway!

"Alright, Kenshin, alright…"

He would kill Okita later. Oh, he knew Okita was in this plot. Why else had the man arrived before dawn to join him for breakfast?

He picked up his chopsticks, gathered his courage, and dug into the green monstrosity. His taste buds braced for the impact…

He chewed, frowning in his surprise. It actually wasn't half-bad. In fact…it was pretty good!

"Hey, kid, not bad," he commented, willingly going for more. If only it wasn't that horrid shade of _green…_

"Really?" Kenshin looked immensely proud of his achievement. "Then I'll make you breakfast _every_ day, Hiko-san!"

"Me too, Kenshin-chan? This really is pretty good!" Okita piped up. After seeing that Hiko hadn't passed out immediately, he'd dug in with gusto.

"You too, Okita-san!" the boy clapped his hands in agreement, excited that the two men found his cooking to be good enough to ask for more.

"What'd you use in it?" Hiko inquired.

"Oh, some things I found in the kitchen…"

At that moment, Tae came rushing in. "Hiko-san? Oh goodness, I just went into the kitchen, and someone had raided the lower pantry! Who knows what was in there…no one's touched that place in years! – "

Two faces immediately turned green.

* * *

'Kodak' 

"Alright, then, Hiko-san, if I could get you to stand over here…like so…" the skinny stick of a man in the green cap gestured to the spot and demonstrated the pose.

Hiko gritted his teeth, and forced himself to comply by fierce willpower alone, quickly imitating the man and hoping it'd all be over as soon as possible.

It was infuriating. It was frustrating. He, one of the most powerful men in Japan's business community, being forced to listen to a twittery, long-winded, sorry-excuse-for-a-human half his size. It seriously wasn't right.

He mentally calculated how much longer he could maintain enough self-control to endure this abuse.

"Relax a little, Hiko-san…ah, no, straighten up…like so, like so!" cried his tormentor in that high-pitched squeak of a voice that would put a mouse to shame.

"Good – oh no, shift your weight just a little to the left – no, too much, too much! Like so! That's it, now freeze!" the man shrilled gaily, seeming to take pleasure in causing Hiko the maximum amount of pain and strain on his patience.

"Now, the child goes in your arms…no no, don't move from that spot! Carefully…there we…oh no, turn him this way, this way! Like so, like so!" said the man, twitching and jumping from side to side while gesturing and jabbing his finger towards various directions.

"That's good…no, a little more to the left – not you, Hiko-san, the child! Right, freeze, freeze! Okita-san, now you to his right, like so!"

Okita went to his designated position, the normal, carefree smile on his face looking very strained.

"Relax your shoulders, Okita-san! Ah – no – too much! _Like so!_" the man said, waving his arms emphatically.

"I can't take this much longer," Okita whispered to Hiko under his breath, that fake, imposter smile still fixed on his face. "I can't help it. I'll strangle the man if this keeps up. _Like so!_"

Hiko fought to hide his smile of amusement at seeing the hard-to-anger, too-happy-to-be-human Okita Souji actually vexed. "Don't do it in public," he whispered back, just as quietly, careful not to let the shrimp-like man – who was now ignoring them in fussing over his equipment – hear. "Do it afterwards. And save some for me."

"I want chicken," the child Hiko was holding in his arms piped up suddenly, drawing the subject from out of nowhere. "I want a drumstick."

"Are you hungry, Kenshin-chan?" Okita inquired with quirked grin.

"We missed dinner," the boy pointed out. "Tae-san and Sae-san promised us chicken today."

"I think we're almost through, kid," Hiko sighed, shifting the boy in his arms.

"HIKO-SAN! I told you to FREEZE! LIKE SO!" yelled the man, who had, somehow, managed to notice the minuscule difference though Hiko could have _sworn_ he'd been looking the other way.

It seemed now that everything was, at last, fitting his expectations, and finally ready to roll.

"Okay, _smile_, you three! That's it! Like so! In three…two…one…"

_Click!_

The brilliant white light of the camera's flash left spots dancing in the three pairs of eyes.

"Wonderful, wonderful! Just so! Another one, another! This time, in the living room, if you please, gentlemen!" cried the too-energetic, too-skittish man.

Hiko let on an inaudible groan, while Kenshin, normally very agreeable and patient, whined, "Hiko-san, I don't _want _to do it again!" which just proved that things were getting from bad to worse. Kenshin _never_ whined.

"Sorry, kid. I don't think there's anything I can do to stop that man," Hiko sighed, following the other cameramen - all of whom looked just as tired of their supervisor - out the door, Okita beside him.

"No worries, Kenshin. We'll make him regret putting us through this," Okita said cheerfully, glaring at the small man's back with blazing intensity in his now hard brown eyes.

"All right, in front of the window, like so!"

_I hate the media, _Hiko thought bitterly as he forced his body into yet another pose, _I hate the press. _

* * *

'Literature'

"Hiko-san? Will you read to me?"

Hiko looked over at the little boy staring at him shyly with those big, amethyst eyes from the doorway.

Leaving his hands on the keyboard, he frowned. "Right now, Kenshin? I'm busy."

"It's ten o'clock," the child pointed out. "At night," he added as an afterthought.

Hiko sighed. "I still have to finish this report…"

Kenshin lowered his eyes in disappointment.

"…but I suppose I could spare a few minutes," the man added hurriedly, cringing inwardly at the thought of making the little boy sad. It was an annoyance he could do without. He stood and stretched as Kenshin looked back up with a huge, adorable smile on his face. "Have you picked out a book?" the man asked as he led the boy out of the office.

"Yep," the child answered, padding softly after him, taking three steps for Hiko's every one. "I got it right here. Omasu-san found it for me."

"I see," Hiko replied, pushing open the door to Kenshin's bedroom. The boy climbed onto the bed, his book clutched in his hands, while Hiko went to fetch a chair and brought it over to the side of the bed.

Now settled beneath the covers, the boy looked at the CEO expectantly.

"Well? Which book?"

"This one!" Kenshin exclaimed happily, pulling the thin, hard-covered book from underneath the blankets and handing it to Hiko.

The man took one look at the title, and felt disbelief wash over him. "This one?" he asked. "You're sure?"

"Yep," the child said, nodding.

He couldn't believe it. Okita had said the boy was very intellilgent, much more so than boys his age were supposed to be. He'd said that Kenshin was already reading chapter books, in both English and Japanese.

So why this one?

"Hiko-san?" Kenshin spoke up, interrupting his thoughts. "Is something wrong?"

_I guess a child, no matter how smart he is, is still just a child,_ the man mused. Out loud, he said, "No, nothing's wrong." He looked at the book again, and, resignedly, opened it to the first page with an inner sigh. _Here goes._

And, feeling very silly, he began to read. "I am Sam. Sam I am!"

* * *

'Masterpiece' 

Okita walked into the office at seven-thirty sharp, as usual.

The drapes were pulled tightly shut over the window, as usual.

A cup of steaming coffee sat next to a glowing computer monitor, as usual.

His boss, Hiko Seijūrō, sat in front of the aforementioned monitor, typing away on his keyboard, as usual.

He said a cheery "Ohayo, Hiko-kun!" and received a caveman-like grunt in reply, as usual.

He walked across the room to open the connecting door to his own office, as usual.

All in all, it was a pretty normal day.

But one thing wasn't as usual.

As he was walking past Hiko's desk, something caught his eyes, and he paused.

"Hiko-kun? What is that?" he asked, baffled. It definitely hadn't been here the day before. And Hiko getting something new on his desk was _definitely_ something very unusual. He squinted, tilting his head as he tried to make out what it exactly was.

Hiko glanced at the thing Okita had indicated, and quickly looked away with a noticeable grimace. Okita now started at him, frantically wrecking his mind to figure out what would cause the immovable CEO to…_was Hiko blushing! _

Alright, _now_ he was scared.

"Hiko-kun?" he ventured timidly, completely unnerved.

"Shut up," the giant man growled. "He made it. He gave it to me. What the hell was I supposed to do, trash it!"

"He…" Okita trailed off, looking from Hiko, to 'it', and back to Hiko again. And with a _click_, the pieces of the puzzle slid together, and he began to laugh uncontrollably.

"Shut up!" Hiko snapped again. He was undeniably blushing now.

"Oh, Hiko-kun, it's nothing to be embarrassed about – ah hahaha!" Okita broke off, laughing impossibly harder, now and then gasping for breath.

"I said, shut up! It not as if I could just throw it away! I don't want to have him sulk and cry for the rest of the day!" Hiko lashed out, dearly wishing he could just kick the man in the ribs. Okita was now doubled over, nearly driven to his knees by the force of his laughter.

"Aww, Hiko-kun! It's just so sweet!" Okita said breathlessly, wiping away tears. "Oh man…never thought I'd see the day…"

And, still chuckling to himself, Okita made his way over to his own office, ignoring the fact that Hiko was glaring daggers at his backs. If looks could kill, he'd have burned up on the spot, fried to a blackened crisp.

"Shut up," Hiko muttered again, irked that he couldn't come up with a better comeback, as he resumed his typing, his cheeks still tinge with red.

He could hear Okita getting attacked by a fresh burst of laughter.

Really, it wasn't that funny! Lots of people had things such as 'it' on their office desks!

However, he had to admit he could see where Okita was getting his amusement. Not only was Hiko the last person anyone would have expected to be caught dead with a thing such as 'it' openly displayed, but the thing itself was a huge source of humor. Kenshin may be shockingly bright, but that, apparently, did not give him an edge when it came to artistic abilities.

Hiko still did not understand why the boy had chosen to draw his hair _green_, or, indeed, why he and Okita were _holding hands_.

* * *

'Impressions'

"Omasu-san."

The aforementioned woman looked up at the sound of her name, her eyes widening when she saw who it was requesting her attention. "Hiko-sama! What may I do for you?"

The man's already-present frowned deepened slightly at that. "Actually, it's more of a …question I have."

"A question, Hiko-sama?" the young woman inquired nervously, casting about her memory, wondering what she could have done to attracted the CEO's attention.

"Yes, a question."

There was an awkward pause, before Omasu realized that was all she was going to get out of the CEO unless she pressed further. "Anou…what exactly _is_ this question, Hiko-sama? I will do my best to answer."

The man cleared his throat. "Yes, well…it's actually about Kenshin."

"Kenshin-chan?" Omasu repeated, bewildered.

"Yes, him. I was wondering…" he trialed off, deliberately avoiding her eyes.

"Wondering?" she prompted.

"It's just wondering, mind you…"

"Wondering what, Hiko-sama?"

For the slightest fraction of a second, Omasu was reminded of an adolescent-to-be trying to decide how to first approach his parents about the topic of _sex._

"I was wondering…" he took a moment to compose himself, gathering his dignity like a protective cloak before pressing on stoically, "why you did…what you did…to his hair."

"To his hair?" Omasu's brown eyes widened in confusion, before that metaphorical light bulb flicked on above her head. "I…do you mean the _ponytail_, Hiko-san?"

"Yes, that," the CEO grumbled.

"You find it…displeasing?" It had never occurred to her that something so simple could upset the not-so-impressionable man.

"I find it…well, it's just that, he looks enough like a…a _girl_ as it is! This just…it gives people the wrong first impression! Kenshin is a _boy!_ I believe it would be best for him to _look_ like one."

Omasu had to bite back a laugh. "But Hiko-sama…he is so much cuter this way! I just cannot imagine him with short hair."

"But he's a _boy!"_ Hiko said emphatically, almost pleadingly.

"Not to be disrespectful, Hiko-sama," Omasu began tactfully, "But _you_ have long hair, as do Okita-san."

"That's different. No one can mistake _us _for women. No, I think I must insist you trim his hair down a bit…"

"No!"

Both spun around, to come face-to-face with the two cooks, Sae and Tae. "No!" they repeated in unison. "Hiko-sama, that would be terrible!" Tae insisted, before her sister continued for her, "yes, terrible! Kenshin-chan is much more handsome this way!"

"Uh…" the man said helplessly.

"I must agree, Hiko-sama. Trust us, the girls are going to be all over him," Omasu beamed.

It was an argument he couldn't win, and he knew it. So Hiko did the thing any sensible man would. He nodded, mumbled something unintelligible, and beat it out of there as quickly as he could without coming off as entirely desperate.

Once he was gone, the three women broke down into giggles. "He said that he and Okita-san would never get mistaken for women," Omasu whispered bemusedly, sending all three into another fit of laughter. "Well, maybe not _him_, but Okita-san…" they looked at each other. "Okita-san, _definitely."_

"The scary thing is, though…I don't think Okita-san minds."

* * *

Yes, alright, perhaps that was a rather sad attempt at humor...but please, review? 


	4. Friends

__

Chapter Three

"_Friends"_

The snowman was coming along quite nicely, Kenshin decided. All it was missing now was a face. He stepped back, admiring his handiwork. It was not as good as the one Okita-san had created yesterday, not by a long shot, but it certainly wasn't _bad_, either. This thought evoked a happy grin beneath his baby blue scarf.

It was really too bad Okita-san and Shishou could not play with him again, but really, he couldn't get too selfish. They had things to do, after all, and they had spent all day with him yesterday.

Nodding to himself, he decided to finish the snowman, and see if he couldn't manage to convince the two men to come out for a break after lunch. Digging into one of his coat's many pockets, he produced a carrot Tae-san and Sae-san had provided for his creation. He would need to be careful sticking it on, he reminded himself, or the snowman's head would split wide open, as Shishou had so kindly demonstrated yesterday.

Scrutinizing the snowman's roughly circular face, he marked off the position for the entrance of the carrot with a mittened hand.

"Hey there."

The sound of the strange voice was so sudden and so unexpected that poor Kenshin literally shot a foot into the air, all the while trying spin around and confront the unknown danger. As a result, he lost his balance and landed with a _thump_ in a wet, ungraceful heap on the snow. Instinctively, he sought to protect himself from the foreign threat with the only thing he had: the carrot, which he now held like a sword. It seemed Shishou's training was already starting to take effect.

"Whoa there, kid, calm down. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

Kenshin blinked. There, at the end of the driveway, standing so relaxed and casually, as though he'd been there a thousand times before, was a boy. Kenshin would have guessed him to be around nine years old, judging by his face, but he seriously doubted himself on this one, seeing as how the boy would have to be the _tallest_ nine-year-old he had ever met. Even standing at full height, he would fall depressingly short of the boy's chest.

The huge difference in their heights would have frightened – or at least made a bad first impression upon – any six-year-old. Kenshin was no exception; his heart sped up like it had been given two tons of sugar. Unlike most other six-year-olds, however, Kenshin had the unique ability of trusting whatever direction his over-sensitive intuition pointed him in, and it was now bashing him over the head with the fact that it was convinced that this boy was no threat. Perhaps it was something about the boy's soft chocolate-brown eyes, or the way he was grinning at the younger child. Whatever it was, Kenshin relaxed into a friendly, though shy, smile.

Encouraged by the redhead's lack of hostility, the brown-eyed boy strode forward, hands casually tucked into his pockets. He had interesting hair, Kenshin noted, wondering how the boy managed to get it to stick up in such a fashion. It actually looked like it was naturally spiky.

"You making a snowman?" It was a rhetorical question, really, but Kenshin nodded anyway. The boy's voice carried such a mild, carefree tone that the child became immediately attracted to him.

"Hn. It's missing a face," the bigger boy pointed out. He seemed to have a talent for listing the obvious. Kenshin nodded again, holding out his carrot.

"Ah. There's the nose. Can I stick it on for you?" At Kenshin's nod of approval, he took the carrot and shoved it into the snowman. Stepping back, he cocked his head and frowned. "Ah, it's crocked. I always do that. You don't mind, do you?" Kenshin giggled, and shook his head. "'s okay. Doesn't matter," he answered a soft voice.

The tall boy grinned down at him. "I thought you were a girl at first, you know," he stated very honestly, without the least bit of shame. "You look like it, because you're so small, and with that long hair n' all," he gestured to Kenshin's red, silky locks, which Omasu had tied back in a high ponytail. "You're not a bad kid, y'know? There aren't any kids in this neighborhood, and every time I go to the park, the kids stay away, because they think I'll pound them or something. You don't think I'm mean, right?" Startled a little by the straightforward question, Kenshin shook his head in an emphatic 'no,' violet eyes wide.

His grin widening at this response, the tall boy continued his one-sided monologue, "Yeah, well, I used to bully kids somewhat. But then my dad took me in, after he found out my mom died and all. He told me, 'don't you dare let me catch you picking on smaller kids, mister. God gave you height, and you'll use it for the benefit of other people. Now, those kids already need to look up to you, so you give'em a reason to do so'." He had deepened his voice rather comically to mimic his father, but now continued on in a normal tone. "So, I don't hit kids no more. By the way, I'm Sagara Sanosuke."

To say that Kenshin was a little surprised by the openness of this boy would have been an understatement. Really, he could not fathom how anyone could be so non-withholding. In only five minutes, he had learned more about him than he knew about…well, _anyone_ save his now deceased family. Even more than he knew about Shishou and Okita-san. Realizing it would be rude not to offer his own name now, he quickly stammered, "K-Kenshin. I'm Kenshin."

"Kenshin, eh?" Sanosuke grinned. "Ne, Kenshin, call me Sano. Can we be friends?"

The redhead blinked, feeling overwhelmed by the quick flow of events. He had never had someone just come up and _ask_ for his friendship.Was that how things were _supposed_ to happen? "I…I would like that," he said timidly, peering up at Sano through his thick bangs. "I'd like that a lot."

And Sano laughed. He had such a light, easy laugh that Kenshin could not help but admire the complete lack of troubles and worries in that light, melodious sound.

They played together for the rest of the day. For the first time, Kenshin realized what the term 'best friend' truly meant.

xxxxx

Hiko stared dismally at the foot-high stack of paper on his desk, waiting patiently to be completed. He had been half-heartedly hoping that if he ignored it, all the tedious paperwork would somehow disappear. No such luck. His hand would cramp before the hour was done.

It was probably for this reason that he welcomed the knock at his door with very uncharacteristic enthusiasm. Maybe a lesser employee of his had decided to drop by his office. It would be a great opportunity to shove some work onto the unlucky victim.

Opening the door reveal a tall, handsome, ebony-haired young man, with eyes the color of the crisp, windy winter sky. "Hiko-san, good morning," he intoned in a monotonous voice, obviously more ritually than sincerely.

"Oh, Shinomori, it's you," was Hiko's disappointed reply. There would be no forcing this man to do his backlogged work. Shinomori Aoshi, the twenty-five year old financial overseer of his entire corporation, had enough on his plate already. Giving him more would ultimately result in very deep trouble, which he, as CEO was sure to be in the midst of. It would not be a pleasant experience. Thus, he was resigned to prolonging the awaiting torture for as long as possible. "How may I help you?" he asked in what he hoped would come off as a pleasant voice, praying, for the first time in his life, that the man would take the hint and carry on the conversation. Aoshi, however, was a man of few words, and he jumped straight to the point without dallying with unneeded pleasantries.

"My little sister and cousin are out of school already, and no one is available at home to watch them. If you do not mind, may I leave them in the main house while working?"

(Now, at this point, it may help to describe the Hiko manor a bit before moving on. As has been mentioned, Hiko Seijūrō, being the recluse that he is, sold the corporation's old office building in town the day after he took office. Thereafter, his home became headquarters. Most of the work was done in the attached West Wing of the house (accompanied with its own parking lot, gym, and cafeteria) while his own office was located in the much smaller East Wing. The main building was the original house, and that was where Hiko, his full-time house workers, and (for this month) Kenshin, lived and slept. Both the back and front yards are fenced off, and surrounded by forestry, making it difficult to see either the West or East wing from within their confines. The whole facility was as big as a castle. With the two Wings designed as they were, Hiko rarely saw any of his employees – which only meant that the design served its purpose.)

Looking past Aoshi, Hiko spotted the two little girls behind the man, both of whom were still bundled in their outdoor coats and peering up at him with wide eyes. Yes, he'd seen them before – the same thing had happened last year. The girls usually went to after school care until Aoshi got off work and took them home, but with Winter Break here, that wasn't possible. Well, it wouldn't hurt to let the kids run in the main house. He needed Aoshi to be working.

"It's fine, Shinomori. Dump them in the backyard with Kenshin. Then get your butt to your office and get down to business."

"Thank you, Hiko-san," Aoshi bowed, and led his two charges away.

Xxx

Kenshin crouched, making himself as small as he could, as he peeped out from behind the lower, scented green needles of the evergreen pine he was hidden behind. Heart pounding excitedly, adrenaline racing through his system, it was all he could do to keep himself still and not springing out to reveal his well-chosen location. He would wait. He _had_ to wait. After all, good things came to those who waited. And that good thing was bound to show up any time. In fact, it should be crossing…right…about…

…_now!_

The suddenly rustle of pine needles and a burst of white cloud was all the warning his prey got before it was pounded with a furry of crudely packed snowballs.

"Arrrrrrrrrgh! Kenshin!" Sano screamed, trying to fend himself from the onslaught, waving his arms wildly in front of his face. This, of course, only encouraged the younger boy to press his advantage, and drain his supply of ammo as quickly as possible. "Stop!" the older boy wailed, though the huge grin plastered on his face assured Kenshin it wasn't hurting as much as Sano would want him to believe.

Left with the last snowball, Kenshin sent it flying into Sano's chest with a satisfying _smack_, and used the distraction to run away before his friend could recover enough to come after him.

"Come back here, you!" Sano hollered, shaking snow from his hair and rubbing his eyes with wet, mitten-covered hands, before sprinting after the younger boy. His longer legs definitely gave him an edge. Kenshin laughed, and stole a glance over his shoulder. Uh-oh. Sano was gaining. He pumped his short legs as fast as they would go.

He cast another glance over his shoulder. Sano was almost caught up. He turned back around –

and smacked straight into something big and solid.

The boy tumbled backwards, losing his balance, and landed hard on his bottom, crashing into the hard snow. Sano had no time to break, and ended up tripping over the smaller boy, collapsing to create a very confused and wet tangle of bodies and limbs.

"Sano-nii! You're heavy!" Kenshin protested, trying in vain to disentangle at least one of his arms. "You're crushing me!"

"You're the one lying on my leg!" Sano retorted. "Awk! Ah, no – my zipper's caught–"

"Hey! That's my scarf!"

"Hold still, my zipper's got your mitten – "

"Ack – Sano-nii! You're strangling me!"

It was safe to say that their attempt at sorting themselves out failed miserably.

"Oh, goodness. Hold still, both of you," a firm voice commanded, holding such authority that both ceased moving immediately. Kenshin peered up from where he was still trapped by Sano's larger body, and smiled when he recognized the person. "Ohayo, Aoshi-san," he greeted the man he'd met a few day before amiably, as though he met people while lying sprawled on the cold snowy ground every single day.

"Ohayo," Aoshi grunted as he picked Sanosuke bodily up by the boy's collar, and set him on his feet. Sano blinked. "How'd you _do_ that?" he asked, completely baffled.

Aoshi ignored him, and helped Kenshin up as well. "Kenshin-kun, here. I want you to meet my little sister and cousin." The man stepped aside, and beckoned his two charges forward. They came slowly, staring at the two boys bemusedly. Kenshin shifted uneasily; he could have sworn they were whispering about him beneath their scarves. Really, he hadn't had much experience with girls his age, and he wondered faintly how it was that he should act. Absorbed in his thoughts, he almost missed Aoshi's next words. "This is Kaoru, and that's Misao," the man said, gesturing to the girls in turn as he introduced them.

"Hi!" said the smaller of the pair, a very bubbly girl who had her raven-colored haired tied back in a braid that fell past her shoulders. "I'm Misao!" she stated, completely missing the fact that she had just repeated her cousin. The girl grabbed a very surprised Kenshin's hand, giving it several firm, over-enthusiastic shakes that nearly landed the boy back on the ground. "How are you doing?" she asked, with a smile bright enough to light up a city.

"F-fine…" Kenshin answered, withdrawing his hand and backing away wearily, as though afraid she might want to eat him.

The other girl, Kaoru, giggled at his reaction. "Don't worry about it, she doesn't bite. She'll just run you over," she said, though it understandably didn't seem too comfort the boy very much.

"Kenshin, how old are you again?" Aoshi asked, ignoring his younger cousin's indignant protests at Kaoru's words.

"Six," the boy answered, wondering why the man wanted to know.

"Well then, you should all get along fine. Misao's six, too, and Kaoru's eight."

"Ha! Got you beat! I'm nine!" Sano injected, unable to bear being left out of the conversation.

Aoshi raised an eyebrow and the display of immaturity. "And who is this?" he inquired dryly.

"I'm Sagara Sanosuke," the boy said proudly, and raised himself to his full height – almost a head above Kaoru but still shy of Aoshi's chest.

"He's my friend," Kenshin added helpfully.

Aoshi gave a noncommittal nod, showing in no uncertain terms that he couldn't care less about who exactly Sano was. Turning back to the girls, he intoned, "Behave, you two," and then left the four children behind, trudging through the snowdrift to begin the day's work.

"Feh. The guy's colder than the snow," Sano muttered, brushing himself off. "He needs to warm up."

"Hey! Don't you talk like that about Aoshi-sama!" Misao yelled, instantly shifting to "protective female mode", rounding on Sano, fairly crackling with fury. "He's ten times the man you'll ever be!"

"_You_ need to chill, itachi musume!" Sano exclaimed, backing away from the infuriated girl. "Sheesh, what's gotten into you?"

"Misao-chan is in love with Aoshi-sama," Kaoru informed him nonchalantly, as if falling in love with a cousin who's almost twenty years your senior was perfectly normal.

"Ho. The ice block and the weasel. Perfect combo. You can cancel each other out!" Sano grinned, amused at his own little joke.

"DON'T CALL ME A WEASEL!"

xxx

"Hey, are you sure about this?"

Misao frowned in clear disapproval at the person who had dared to question her beautiful, ingenious, and obviously one-hundred percent flawless plan. "Of _course_ I'm sure, stupid tori-atama!" she replied in a heated whisper. "Now shut up, or someone'll figure out we're here!"

"I'm surprised they haven't already," Kaoru muttered, every bit as doubtful as Sanosuke. She had been a part of many of Misao's notorious "brilliant plans" before, and every single one had turned into a disaster. Now she wondered just _how_ she had been dragged into and persuaded to go alone with yet another one.

"Misao-neechan…I'm really not sure this'll work…" Kenshin whispered worriedly. His 'neechan' only glared at him. He had picked up the nickname for her only because when he'd tired to called Kaoru 'neechan', Misao had thrown a fit, and declared that if Kaoru got to be called 'big sister', then she ought to be called that, too. It didn't matter that they didn't know who was older (since Kenshin wasn't sure when his birthday really was), there was 'no way in How' Kaoru got a little brother and she didn't. ("What's 'How'?" Sano had asked blankly, only to be bashed over the head by the insulted girl, who screamed, "None of your business!" though her face was suspiciously flushed red.) It's wouldn't be _fair_, she had then insisted, since Kaoru already _had_ a big brother, and a good-looking one too!

"You're gonna get us all in trouble, itachi musume!" Sano growled. "If we get busted, I'm blaming it on you!"

"I said, shut up! And call me _okashira!_ We're on a secret mission! We have to go by code names. And we won't get caught if you'll just be quiet, _tori-atama!"_ the girl snarled, all but baring her fangs.

"Oro…" Kenshin muttered to himself. "I have this bad feeling, de gozaru…"

"Quit talking to yourself, Kenshin. One crazy person is all we need here," Sano said, all the while glaring at the back of Misao's head. Kenshin felt a huge sweatdrop roll down the back of his skull.

"Alright, the area is clear. Places, troops!" Misao ordered, a mad gleam in her aqua-blue eyes. Seeing that argument would just provoke the wrath of their 'leader', the other three had no choice but to obey and slip quietly into their designated positions.

"Operation 'Tenchū' is about to commence!" Misao hissed across to her reluctant comrades in an over-dramatized voice, her whole body quivering with anticipation. ("Tenchū, smanchu. What a stupid name," Sano muttered.) "On my signal…three…two...

…one!"

In a flash, she disappeared from her spot, reappearing a moment later on a nearby stool, scampering up onto the counter. Kaoru and Sanosuke, cooperating for once, ran to their stations next to the shelf Misao was now reaching into, standing on her tiptoes on the countertop. Between them, they stretched a snow-white bed-sheet they'd borrowed without permission from the laundry room. Meanwhile, Kenshin had gotten beside the door, ready to sound the alarm if anyone started their way.

"Haha! The kunoichi has broken through the defenses! Her superior skills are proven!" Misao crowed, and started to toss the fruits of her labor down, where they landed safely into the sheet Kaoru and Sano were holding. One after another, the packages rained down like mana from heaven. Sanosuke's eyes went wide at the sight of their catches. "Hey, sorry I doubted you, weasel girl. You're not bad at this ninja stuff."

"It's '_okashira'!"_ Misao snapped. "Of course I'm good, I even have specialty moves! Wanna see?" She dug her hands into her pockets, and produced three very dull, very plastic kunai. "_Kansatsu Tobikunai_!" she yelled, and hurled them off, sending them flying through the air, over the heads of her two friends on the ground. Without waiting to see where they landed, she turned back to the shelf she had been in the middle of raiding. "Only a couple more packages left. Then we can go – "

"Ahem."

All three children froze at the sound of the very deep, very intimidating, very _adult _voice.

"K-Kenshin?" Misao asked hopefully, not daring to turn around. "Kenshin, it's you right? Quit playing, it's not funny – "

"No, I'm afraid I'm _not_ Kenshin," the voice replied wryly, dripping with sarcasm.

Slowly, very slowly, as though she was walking to her doom, Misao turned around to face the speaker.

She nearly passed out.

The door way was blocked by the huge frame of none other than Hiko Seijūrō himself. Behind him stood a very abashed Kenshin, who was staring shamefully and meekly at the ground, trying with all his might to wish himself somewhere else. The redhead was shifting his weight from foot to foot, guilty avoiding their gazes.

Misao's mind normally ran on hyper-speed. But now, the only thing she could think of to say – really, the only thing she _could_ say – was,

"Uh-oh."

Xxx

"So let me get this straight," Hiko drawled. "You four staged this whole thing just so you could go and steal all the cookies and snacks in my house? You have way too much time on your hands." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, Okita? What should we do with these little thieves-in-training?" he asked of his advisor who had happened onto the scene of the crime while out searching for some chocolaty goodness.

"Hmm. Well, stealing is a Class-A offense prosecuted by law. Shall we turn them over to the sheriff?" The shorter man cocked his eyebrows, all the while trying desperately to contain his amusement at seeing the four children's faces pale.

"Huh? What are you talking about - ?" Hiko started, but fell silent when his advisor glared at him, stating plainly, '_play along!'_ "I mean – the sheriff? Too much trouble. Why not just lock them in the dungeon?"

The four were now looking as though they might pass out.

"Oh, I have an even better idea. Let's tell Aoshi-kun and turn them over to him!" Okita replied maliciously, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his eyes.

"No!" Misao and Kaoru shrieked at the exact same time, and a rushed of words immerged from the terrified cousins, blending and mixing into a very confused and unintelligible jumble as they both tried to explain themselves out of that ultimate punishment.

"Whoa, whoa!" Okita held up his hands, causing the two girls to fall silent, both gazing at him with despair. "Alright, we _won't_ tell Aoshi-kun. But you have to promise me _never_ to steal again. This is serious stuff. And next time it happens, we _will_ tell Aoshi, understand?"

The two girls nodded frantically.

"And you, boy?"

"I understand, too!" Sano yelped, nodding his head off. Okita had to bite back a laugh.

"Kenshin?" Hiko turned back towards the redhead. "What about you?"

"I – it'll never happen again, I swear!" the small boy squeaked. "Never never ever! I'm so sorry, sorry – "

"Oh, nonono, not that again. No, you will _not_ start on that again. Stop. I get it. Do not get started on that apology of yours, or we'll be here all day!" Hiko snapped, holding up a hand, inwardly cringing as he remembered the last time Kenshin had used that tone – the first day, when he'd broken the glass figurines. He was sure he could not listen to the child ramble on about just _how_ sorry he was twice He would crack. He was sure of it."Go play somewhere else, all of you! And Kenshin, don't you _dare_ let me catch you crying, or it'll be three hundred extra swings during tonight's practice!" With that last thought, Hiko stormed back towards his office, leaving the four pairs of wide eyes staring at his retreating back.

Okita couldn't help it anymore. It was too much – the comically disastrous plan, the expression on the kids' faces, and Hiko's last outburst and obvious fear of Kenshin's tears – he lost the battle of self-control and collapsed to the floor, laughing hysterically.

Xxxxx

It had become routine for Hiko to tuck Kenshin into bed at night, so much so that the man barely felt odd about doing it any more. Which, if he had felt the need to dwell on it, should have been unsettling to say the least, but it was his not-so-humble philosophy that some things were just meant to be left un-contemplated.

"Here, Shishou," Kenshin said one night, about two weeks after he'd first set foot in the Hiko Manor, "Okita-san said to give this to you." He held out to the man a rather scuffed up piece of paper.

"Oh?" Hiko raised his eyebrows slightly, wondering exactly what his advisor had planted into the boy's head this time. He took the paper and tilted it slightly so that the dim glow of the night-light would illuminate it enough to be read. Seeing its contents, he frowned in confusion. There was only one word on it.

" 'Smiles,'" Hiko read aloud. "What is this, baka deshi?"

"It's my Christmas wish list. Okita-san said to make one and show you," the child replied sleepily, already falling asleep, lulled by the warmth beneath the heavy covers and the soft mattress.

"Ah." Yes, Okita had mentioned something about getting the boy presents for the holidays. "And you want 'smiles'? I was really hoping for something you can buy at a store," Hiko stated dryly.

"Mama always said that y'weren't supposed to wish for material things," Kenshin replied softly, his words a bit slurred. "Y'were supposed ta wish for what you wanted most, and it shouldn't be thing you could lose or break or get tired of. She said that was how God intended it to be." He shifted to peer up at his shishou with tired violet eyes. "Once, I wanted my own little shovel, like the one 'Kuya nii-chan got. That's when Mama told me about how I oughtn't wish for things like that. I guess I cried a bit, but then Haru nii-san took me and told me how Papa doesn't make enough for us to all get presents, and I should do like Mama said and wish for the right things instead."

"I see," Hiko murmured. "Well, why do you want 'smiles,' Kenshin?"

"Because I want it so that even when I leave, I'll be as happy as I was here, and smile just as much," was the prompt reply, spoken unabashedly as only such an innocent could.

"Sou ka…" the man sighed, folding up the paper and putting it into his breast pocket. "Well, I'll see what I can do. Good night, then, Kenshin."

"Oyasumi nasai, Shishou." The words had barely left his tongue before he was fast asleep.

Hiko silently stood up and walked out of the room without making the slightest noise, his huge frame seeming to simply glide over the carpeted floor. He left Kenshin's bedroom door cracked slightly open, before heading off to his office to wrap things up for the night.

_It doesn't make sense,_ he thought to himself as he climbed down the stairs. _It's true that farmers don't make that much money, but surely, no matter how bad the harvest was, they could have at least been able to afford small gifts for their children. _

_Where did all their profits go?_

It was a puzzle, to be sure, one more piece in the jigsaw that was the Himura family. He had collected many of these pieces over the past two weeks, and there was no doubt in his mind that pretty soon, things would begin to fall into place.

* * *

_Japanese Glossary:_

**Itachi musume: **Weasel girl, or Misao's 'nickname'

**Kansatsu Tobikuni: **"Piercing/Killing Flying Daggers," Misao's specialty move

**Kunoichi:** Female ninja

**Tori-atama: **Bird head, or Sano's 'nickname'

_____Author's Note:_

_I'm so, so sorry for the huge delay in getting this chapter up. I actually had the first part written out, but it was so hard trying to figure out ifI wanted to post it or not. I couldn't make up my mind on how to write all our favorite RurouKen characters as children. You have no idea how many times I rewrote this. I'm still not sure I like the end result -in places, it just seems way too...ah, what's the word...sappy? Man, that's a lot of fluff. More than I've ever written before in my life. If it turns out I'm not pleased with it after a while, I might just delete it and put up an alternate version. Thanks for putting up with me!_

_But please leave a review and give me some feedback, goodness knows I need it for motivation and inspiration. And thanks again for all your wonderful reviews!_


	5. Storm

**_Chapter Four_**

"_Storm"_

As the sun dawned upon December the twentieth, there was not a doubt in anyone's mind that winter was here and had come to stay for a good while. Earlier in the week, there had been a few days accompanied by non-stop snowing, with a stubborn cold-front at fault, and the city had been coated in a blanket of snow several feet deep. Adults grumbled about it, and even the children grew tiresome of the omnipresent flakes as their parents absolutely refused to let them outside to play amidst a snowstorm, no matter how much they screamed and begged and howled.

So everyone was very happy when the weather forecast began calling for warmer weather up ahead. And for once, the weathermen and their questionable methods were correct, and it did indeed warm up. However, it seemed that 'warmer' did not come hand in hand with 'nicer', and it soon became apparent that 'warmer' by itself was not so much a blessing.

Now that the temperature was no longer so close to zero degrees Celsius, precipitation could not freeze, and thus the snowstorm melted into a rainstorm. These cousins mixed to become the nightmare known as _slush_. Impossible to play with, and able to miraculously crawl into even the tallest boots and freeze the socks and feet inside, the gray, miserable stuff now covered the entire city like a giant, too-comfortable slug.

Most businesses had shut down completely by the second day of the snowstorm, their owners deciding that they'd rather not go to all the trouble of wrestling their employees out of warm, snug houses, especially when they themselves had no urge whatsoever to walk any farther than it was necessary to get the daily mail. Those few, determined people who _did_ manage to fight their way into their various stores and shops – poor souls, bless them, they were all but an extinct species – found that they had barely enough customers to break even with the expense of opening, let alone make a profit. The city was like a bear, bunkered down for the winter, waiting patiently for the snow to melt and the rain to cease.

The gloomy, subdued morning found Hiko sitting crossed legged in front of a merrily crackling fire, not in his office for once because Okita had called a few days ago and adamantly refused to let him make the whole company continue on work as usual ("Just because you're a crazy non-man who has no feelings and is indifferent to anything nature throws at you, doesn't mean we ALL are!"). He was bored out of his mind, fingers absentmindedly twiddling with a loose thread from his shirt. It had been so long since his tightly-kept daily routine had last been so dramatically disrupted that quite frankly, he had no idea how to entertain himself and kill off this massive pile of the foreign thing called '_free-time' _that had suddenly been so graciously heaped onto him. Oh, the first two days or so had been fine – there'd been plenty of things he'd found he actually missed doing, such as catching up on his pottery. But as days piled up and began to form a week, he'd grown increasingly frustrated by the amount of activity – or lack thereof. There was, after all, only so much clay one could handle before he began to feel like screaming at the sight of the soft, moist material.

So here he found himself, sitting on the soft, plush carpet he barely remembered he had half the time, munching idly on popcorn because he'd given his cooks the day off as well, with nothing to do except contemplate the meaning of life.

"Shishou?"

Well, _practically_ nothing.

"Okay, Shishou, I'm done."

"Well, it certainly took you long enough," the man grunted, before glancing at the small table set up between him and his young protégé. After only a pause, he reached down to pick up a small, black, plastic circle between his thumb and forefinger, moved it over a space, and set it back down with a snap.

"King me," Hiko intoned monotonously, and took a few second's worth of pleasure in seeing the boy's lips pucker in a small, crestfallen pout as he did as bidden, placing another black piece on top of the one his Shishou had just placed down.

The sense of satisfaction lasted only a few moments, however, and far too soon he was once again twiddling with the loose thread, waiting with growing impatience for Kenshin to make his move.

Really, he found it impossible to see how someone would need almost five whole minutes to decide where to move in a game of checkers. The darn kid was taking this _way_ too seriously.

xxxxx

People, like most animals, are born with the primeval ability to 'sense' others. Most people we see are considered 'normal,' one of the millions of nameless faces we encounter everyday in the crowd, and the brain tells us there is no need to be more cautious than usual around them. But there are some people at whom one need only glance and alarms went blaring off in the mind, sometimes for no apparent reason at all. The person's appearance could be completely normal, he could be only walking down the street like every other guy, and yet, _somehow,_ he was _off._ Through thousands of years of civilization, the human's 'sensor' has dulled to the point where it is nowhere near as powerful as those of the wild beasts, and could never be one-hundred percent accurate, but still offers some protection against unfriendly strangers.

Unfortunately, there are, of course, also some people of evil hearts who, perhaps by taking advantage of the dullness of the human 'sensor,' somehow manages to hide it so that they slide past a normal person's 'sensor' altogether.

However that worked, one of these such persons walked into a dimly lit family restaurant-bakery at exactly a minute past seven in the morning, barely earning himself a second glance from the girl behind the counter. He did not go straight toward his destination. Instead, he meandered casually forward, and by and by he drifted toward the dark far corner of the room.

There was another man there, an older one, one that the girl at the counter seemed to be unaware of, as he had not been offered a glass of water, nor even a menu, though he had been there for over twenty minutes. The last five of which he had spent watching the inconspicuous man make his way gradually nearer.

"You have news?" The words were a barely audible hiss, spoken through lips that did not appear to have moved, nor even twitched. Dark eyes framed by heavy eyebrows darted around listlessly, in a never ending search for danger.

"Yes," the first man replied easily, though no less quietly, his relaxed posture perhaps contributing to his seeming lack of harm. He stood precisely three feet away from the one who had been awaiting his arrival, marveling at a mounted painting as though he had always been a lifelong admirer of Thomas Kinkade, though he was quite sure he'd never heard of the artist before in his life.

There was a minute of expectant silence, before the sited man realized he would get no more out of his informant without some pressing. "Well, what is it?" he sighed in exasperation, reminding himself to speak with this boy's superior about sending rookies to him.

"He had another son," the young messenger said promptly, a hint of a smile forming on his lips at the waves of frustrations he could clearly feel emanating from the older man.

Another minute passed by in silence, before the growingly impatient man growled out, "tell it _all_, boy, before I skin you and nail you to this wall!"

Trying not to laugh, the messenger decided he had pushed the man far enough, and complied. "The boy is no harm, that much is certain – he's barely big enough to lift a baseball bat without falling over. However…" he smirked, flashing a sidelong glance over to his companion. "We're not ones to leave things half-finished, are we?"

"Of course not," the man muttered, face creasing into a deep scowl. "Tell me the plan."

Instead of speaking as he'd expected, the informant merely reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a silk bag which was tossed over. He caught it noiselessly and slipped it inside his coat, catching a small grin from the boy out of the corner of his eyes.

The young man left the way he had come, causally and in no hurry whatsoever. He paused by the counter to buy a red-bean bun, smiling so charmingly that he caused the young girl to blush faintly, before walking back out the door and disappearing amidst the heavy rain that refused to cease.

Fifteen minutes after the messenger had first entered, the restaurant was once again empty of all life except the girl behind the counter, who had already forgotten about her first customer of the day and was wishing fervently that she was anywhere else but here. The whole incident slipped into the recess of time, swallowed up like it had never occurred at all.

Xxxxx

Staring out the window at the thundering raindrops clashing down from the heavens, Kenshin wondered idly where all the water came from. Were the drops really the tears of fighting clouds like his mother had said, or just regular sea and lake water that got sucked up into the air as Shishou had informed him? Somehow, he thought he liked Kaachan's version better. Shishou's story hadn't made much sense.

The boy sighed, wishing that Sano was here, and Kaoru and Misao, because with Okita-san and Omasu-san and everyone else kept away by first the snow and then the rain, the big house was almost frighteningly empty; devoid of all life except him and Shishou. Now that Shishou had sent him away, he felt very, very small.

Kenshin shook his head slightly to get rid of these depressing thoughts and sprawled down on the floor, wondering what he should do next. He had already read five books that day, and had gotten beaten by Shishou in three game of checkers and two of chess before the man had finally ordered him to 'leave me alone,' which, actually, was more than he'd ever gotten before. Shishou usually ordered him away after only two games of checkers or one of chess, complaining that 'you take the games entirely too seriously, indecisive little baka.' The boy was left to wonder why it was a _bad_ thing that he wanted to win.

Kenshin sighed again, rolling over so that he could stare at the white-plastered ceiling.

_Rain isn't so bad,_ he mused quietly. _Touchan was always happy when it rained. The plants always looked happier after a shower._ He clambered to his feet once more, and went to press his face against the glass window, his eyes easily finding the small garden of winter-plants Shishou had allowed him to look after. _But Kaachan always said 'not too much.' Too much will turn any good thing into a bad thing. And it's certainly been raining a lot._

_I'll go out and see if they're all right,_ he decided, and once he had his mind fixed on something to do, he quickly set about doing it as best as he could. It took a little while, but fifteen minutes later he was dressed in a water-proof windbreaker and trotting out into the backyard, kicking up sprays of water behind him along the way.

At that moment, somewhere across the building, Hiko Seijūrō had decided, after long and careful deliberation, to settle down and watch the first movie he'd seen in years.

Xxx

'_I can't believe he's actually coming out.'_

The hidden man could only shake his head bemusedly, causing the raindrops that had collected on top of his hood to slide off, before slipping backwards into the shadows once more.

Xxx

It really did look like the plants were drowning, with the amount of water that had collected in the soil. The whole garden was basically one huge, muddy puddle with soggy vegetation sticking out here and there. Kenshin fingered the stem of a now-unrecognizable flower dejectedly, wondering if they would be able to recover from this freak storm. Maybe it would help if he stuck an umbrella over the garden. Could Shishou possibly have a giant umbrella hidden somewhere in the house?

Absorbed as he was, and with his senses muffled by the heavy rain, he didn't realize that he wasn't alone until a voice spoke into his ear.

"Hello. Is this your garden?"

Startled, the boy sprang away like a frightened rabbit, giving an impressive display of what was the beginning of Hiten Mitsurigi's patented 'god-like speed.' He paused to look back from a point a safe ten feet away, eyeing the stranger wearily. It was a young man, barely an adult, a man with startlingly blue eyes, silky brown hair, and a disarming smile set on a boyish face. Kenshin hesitated, unsure of what he should do. One part of him was willing to relax, seeing nothing in the man that spoke of harm. Another part, however, probably the same one that had been spending too much time with his cynical Shishou, wasn't quite ready to give the stranger the 'all-clear' yet.

Luckily for Kenshin, the young man made the next move. Laughing in a sheepish manner, he ran a hand through his rain-soaked hair. "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to scare you. Actually, I only need some directions. See, I'm from out of town, and I don't know my way around – can you tell me how to get to the Hiko Manor?"

"This…_is_ the Hiko manor," Kenshin said slowly, hoping he was doing the right thing. "You're there already."

"Oh! My directions were better than I gave them credit for," the man laughed again cheerfully, blue eyes twinkling. "Well, I have a delivery for a certain Hiko Seijūrō in my car. Would you happen to know him?"

_This isn't right_, Kenshin thought nervously. _Deliveries don't come like this. They've always come with the regular mail before. And he isn't the mailman._ This was a fact that he was certain of: he actually knew the mailman, a kindly old man named Okina who enjoyed talking to him and giving him treats. _Besides, shouldn't Shishou know if a delivery important enough to be delivered in this weather was coming?_

"I-I can go get him for you, if you like," the boy stammered, desperately trying not to show his uncertainty. Shishou had taught him – had literally pounded into him – to never show your emotions as they could too easily be used against you.

"Oh, that really won't be necessary. You get just take it in; it's not too big of a package. Come with me to my car. I'll give it to you there." The man beckoned to him, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his car that was parked behind the house, near the rear entrance.

"No," Kenshin replied immediately, knowing better than to take such an offer. He wondered if it would be okay to start backing away. "No, I'll go get him. He's only just inside, it won't take more than a few minutes."

"I don't see why we should disturb him unnecessarily. He's an important man, he must have lots of things to do. It's alright, I'm not going to do anything to you. I only need to get rid of this package." The young man explained patiently. "Look, I'd get it for you, but I'm in a bit of a hurry. If you could just come get it, it'd save me a bit of time. What do you say?"

It was then that the young man _smiled_, smiled in such a way that did not reach his suddenly empty eyes. And Kenshin swallowed, fighting the urge to run, because he knew – knew right then that the man wasn't who he claimed to be; knew that he meant harm; and knew that he had to get Shishou as quickly as possible.

"No," the young boy forced out, refusing to budge. "No. You wait, I'll go get him." He started to retreat even before the sentence was finished, and as soon as it was he turned and sprinted for the door. His heart was pounding in his ears, the too-familiar feelings of fear and desperation, and the terrifying thrill of adrenaline rushing through his veins, slammed full force into his system. He ran blindly, instinctively towards the only protection he had, the man who had sheltered him and been kind to him. With his vision and hearing dulled by the rain and his overloaded mind, he ran straight into the arms of his captor without knowing it.

He gasped as strong arms snatched him up, head snapping forward painfully at the suddenly halt. His reaction was one of reflex action; his leg shot out and kicked in the direction the aggressor had to be. It connected, and he heard a grunt of pain, but the grip upon his collar did not loosen. The child let out a yell of raw emotion, hands frantically clawing at the arm the held him captive.

There was a string of curses, and then he was slammed down to the muddy ground, his screams ceasing as the wind was knock out of his lungs. A cloth was pressed to his face, and he caught a whiff of a sweet-smelling chemical before his world faded into empty darkness.

The dark-eyed man scowled as he watched the child's limp form crumple to the ground, grimacing at the bouts of pain shooting across his abused groin. Damn the stupid kid who didn't have enough sense to go down without a fight. He gave the small, red-headed body at his feet a good kick, smirking at the satisfying _thump_ and the way the light body actually few a few feet before slamming back into the mud and grass.

"Now, Hōji-san, don't kill the boy," the brown-haired young man chided lightly, his smile never leaving his face. "Shisho-san wouldn't be too pleased to find him crippled and half dead, since our orders were to bring him in relatively unharmed."

Hōji merely grunted in response. "It's your fault anyway, boy. There would have been no need for a struggle if you'd just done your job."

"My apologies," the young man shrugged. "He was more cautious than I guessed he would be. We should probably be going now, before anyone notices he's missing."

The older man only grunted again, before stalking back towards their car, casually stepping on Kenshin along the way without the slightest glance down. The blue-eyed man chuckled as he started after him. He paused briefly to stoop down and grab their little captive, slinging him over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, before continuing on his merry way.

Xxxxx

_Die Hard_ was completely overrated.

That was Hiko's only thought as he walked out of the room, growing increasingly annoyed at images of ridiculously fiery explosions flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinked. So much fuss to kill so little people – and such a big mess, too. If this McClane was any good, he would be able to just slice those idiots in half in five minutes, tops.

He sighed, still trying to understand what exactly had possessed him to sit there for two hours straight watching Americans run around like chickens with their heads cut off. It was two precious hours of his life he would never see again. A pity, really.

"Oy, baka deshi!" he growled, hammering on the boy's bedroom door. "Come out here and make some dinner!" He had decided that Kenshin's cooking skills would be wasted if not used, and so when Tae and Sae had started their vacation a week before he had put the boy in charge of dinner every other night, and lunch on the days in between.

Surprisingly, there was no answer. A split second later, his _ki_ sense decided to inform him that the boy was not only absent from the room, but from the immediate vicinity as well. Hiko's scowled deepened. Seriously, go figure. Where was that little scamp when you need him?

He expanded his _ki_, reaching out in a vain attempt to locate his errant student. Only when that produced no results did he experience a rare but brief, almost non-existent moment of panic. There was no way Kenshin could have learned to control his _ki_ so well that even he couldn't sense it. That left only two options: either he'd made a careless mistake and overlooked him, or the boy had actually left the campus. The latter was improbable and the former was impossible. Still, it never hurt to make sure, and so he double-checked the Manor, sending his _ki_ into every corner and spanning it out to the grounds and the forest beyond, straining to his limits. Still no Kenshin.

So that left the possibility that the idiot had actually decided to take a stroll through a rainstorm without informing him first.

_Now if I were an idiot, red-headed six-year-old,_ Hiko mused quietly to himself,_ where in the world would I go so that I can piss off my brilliant Shishou and starve him of his dinner?_

The answer came to him with the speed of a flying _kunai._

"_Okita!_"

xxxxx

"Now, Hiko-kun, calm down!" the poor, confused, and, for once, innocent Okita pleaded pitifully. "I really have no idea what you're talking about…no seriously!...yes, _seriously!_...Do I really seem like the type of person who would do such a thing? Oh wait, no, don't answer…I said _don't_ answer…Hiko-kun, listen!...Did you even hear me? I said…damn it, Hiko…No, I did not drive over to your place just to kidnap the kid, why in the world would I even _want_…I'm not crazy, Hiko-kun, I'm just mischievous!...Okay, I'll admit that was a bad time, but…no, I swear I did NOT take him!...how could you lose the kid, anyway? Sheesh, I'm glad I decided not to get you that kitten for Christmas…_ow,_ my ear! Stop screaming already!...I said, stop screaming! Don't you have better things to do now? Kenshin-chan isn't going to find himself…no, for the last time, I'm NOT hiding him in my closet…how should I know where he'd…oh for goodness' sake, calm down…I said calm…HIKO SEIJŪRŌ, I COMMAND YOU TO CALM...! Oh forget it!"

The phone was slammed back down with enough force to split a boulder open. A thin crack sprung into existence along the hard plastic. Okita glared down at the traitorous receiver. "You deserved it!" he sniffed, before turning on his heels and marching away.

His poor dog watched him retreat from a safe spot under the recliner, tail tucked between his legs and watery brown eyes wide with shock and fear. He learned one lesson that day: Master was scary when mad, and upsetting him was a Very Bad Thing.

Xxxxx

Hiko stormed down the stairs in a cloud darker than the ones outside. How dare Okita hang up on him! He didn't need the fool anyway. It could not be that hard for a genius like himself to find one little boy. _Correction,_ he thought grimly; it would be one _crippled_ little boy when he got his hands on him.

Car keys in one hand, windbreaker in the other, he entered the kitchen to acquire a mug of coffee before heading out.

That was where he found the flimsy scrap of paper taped to the island. He recognized Kenshin's horrendous, childish scrawl on it immediately.

"_bcar Shiihm,_

_Lone eut tu sce floaerz. Be Dack so6on._

_Rensbin"_

_What _IS _that fool trying to write? A letter to the visiting aliens who kidnapped him? _Not surprisingly, it took quite a bit of squinting and creative imagination before he managed to make out what the boy had wanted to say.

"_Dear Shishou,_

_Gone out to see flowers. Be back soon._

_Kenshin"_

Flowers? That boy went out in this weather because he wanted to see _flowers?_ Oh, he was going to have a serious, serious talk with that child – right after he found him and dragged him home. Straightening, he grabbed his things and headed out to the back door.

* * *

_Japanese Glossary:_

**Ki:** A person's life force. Excellent swordsmen, such as Hiko and the real Rurouni Kenshin, can sense the _ki_ of others' and conceal their own. (My own definition, please tell me if I'm wrong.)

**Kunai:** those short knives you see Misao using.

_(I accidentally deleted this chapter. Was there an author's note? Can't remember. Oh well. _

_I do not own Die Hard, by the way)_

_Hope you enjoyed reading. Please leave a review!_


	6. Blood

_(Before we get started: _Let me clarify that Okita doesn't live with Hiko. He's got his own house, own car, own swimming pool, own city…wait, sorry, I went one too far. :)

_Note: Please be warned that this chapter is a bit darker than the previous ones, and really ought to be rated T instead of K+. _

* * *

_**Chapter Five**_

_"Blood"_

"Shishio-san? Shishio-san," Seta Sōjirō called lightly, knocking on the wooden door that led to his master's private chambers. "Shishio-san, may I come in?"

"Only if you have good news, Sō," came a familiar, raspy voice in reply. Sōjirō had been with his master long enough to be able to accurately judge Shishio Makoto's mood based on a set of very subtle, traitorous traces of changes in the quality of the man's voice. He was one of only two people in the world who had perfected that trick. And judging by Shishio's voice right now, he would guess that the other person was currently inside with him. Or, perhaps more precisely, on_ top_ of him.

His mask of a light smile never leaving his face, the young man opened the door and stepped in, before shutting it once again behind him. One look told him that his guess had been, as usual, right on target. There, strategically positioned on Shishio's bandaged body, was the source of the good humor he had detected in Shishio's voice: the beautiful woman who called herself Komagata Yumi.

"Pardon my interruption, Shishio-san, Yumi-san," Sōjirō murmured with a slight bow. Having long since gotten used to walking in to witness such scenes as the one which presented itself before him now, not even the slightest trace of an embarrassed blushed tinted his cheeks. He had a message to deliver. That was his only concern. "We've brought back the boy you requested."

Shishio barely spared the messenger a second glance, his fingers busily trailing along the delicate, pale white skin of Yumi's bare back. "I'm not in the mood to deal with that right now. Do with the kid what you will to get him prepared. I'll get to him eventually." The last word ended with a breathless hiss, nearly swallowed as the man leaned forward to nibble playfully at woman's neck. She only smirked in reply, allowing the teasing for only a moment before ceasing it with a slender finger pressed to those fire-blackened lips. If it were possible, Shishio's expression grew even more pleased at the added challenge.

If Seta Sōjirō possessed the ability to look exasperated, he did so right then. "Very well, Shishio-san, but try not to wait too long. If Hōji-san gets him alone, you may not have anything left to deal with."

His reply was a mere grunt coupled with the dismissive wave of a bandaged hand. Closing the door behind him softly, the boy went off to carry out the orders he'd been given, tactfully choosing to tune out the noises now floating through the wooden door to reach his cursedly acute ears.

Xxxxx

The throbbing pain got his attention first.

Kenshin's world was dark and empty, void of everything except the vague knowledge that some unknown part of his body was hurting. Had the pain been absent, he would have happily slept for another couple of hours. As it was, however, there was now a need to sit up, to open his eyes, and somehow cause the annoying pain to cease.

He came back into consciousness slowly, hazily blinking away the fog behind his eyelids. Almost unknowingly, his small hand found his bruised ribs, where the man called Hōji had planted his foot hours before. His body, clumsy with the aftereffects of the drug, tried valiantly to sit up. It failed miserably, and he let out a small, distressed cry as he collapsed back onto the cold stone floor.

"Don't move," a voice whispered in his ear. A hand was suddenly on his forehead, caressing him gently and comfortingly, magically chasing away the pain, as the hands of his brothers once had. "It's alright. Go back 'ta sleep."

That sounded like such wise advice. And Kenshin, smart boy that he is, decided to take it.

Xxxxx

Hiko's knowledge that heavy rain wasn't exactly the best partner during a tracking mission was quickly reaffirmed. The thundering downpour refused to let up, stubbornly pressing on in its mission to drive its way to the dangerous end of the sword-master's patience.

Whatever obvious tracks Kenshin might have left had been filled in by water and mud. There were no signs of the boy anywhere around the small garden. And as much as he loathed admitting it, Hiko had no idea what to do next. Driving around the city blindly was not an option. The city was big, and Kenshin was terribly small. Enlisting the help of the police was a possibility – probably the best one right now, even though it would mean hurting his pride by requesting help. Still, there wasn't much the police could do that Hiko by himself couldn't, except search over more ground.

But every little bit was sure to help. Sighing, the man decided to swallow his pride and turned back towards the manor. His foot sank a few inches beneath his weight into the soggy ground.

He stopped abruptly, eagle-sharp eyes focusing as a predator's would on its prey. He stooped down in one fluid motion, fingers brushing the damp grass as they lifted something into the air.

A long strand of flaming-red hair that had somehow managed to escape the surrounding mud danced frailly in the howling wind.

Xxxxx

A good five miles away as the crow flies, Okita was hanging up the phone (one that had escaped his earlier wrath unharmed), an expression of grim satisfaction on his features.

He knew it had been a good idea to install those surveillance cameras behind Hiko's arrogant back. Granted, he had hoped never to have to use them in such a manner, but times were desperate, and, as the saying goes, he took desperate measures. _"Send me the tapes for the past five hours,"_ he had commanded his subordinates. Hopefully, Kenshin had disappeared in the time frame. He had no way of knowing for sure, since Hiko hadn't exactly been cooperative the last time they spoke.

He logged into his account. The tapes were there, waiting quietly for his attention.

"Hang on, Kenshin-chan," Okita murmured as he brought the first one up onto the screen. "Don't get into too much trouble."

And the seconds ticked by.

Xxxxx

The pain had subsided substantially the next time Kenshin regained consciousness.

He slowly sat up after taking a moment to gather his wits, blinking hazily as his mind struggled back into recall. As disoriented as he was, he could only gaze dazedly around the room he was held in, head turning every which way like an infant following the spinning mobile above his crib.

Panic flared up like a bullet from an unseen pistol suddenly fired at the moment he realized he had no idea where he was. The smells were strange, the sights were strange, the sounds were lacking altogether save for his own quickening breathing and the blood rushing in currents past his eardrums. His muscles refused to obey him properly; spots danced in front of his eyes, which could not focus as they were designed to.

Coherent thoughts could not hold together enough to make sense, and instincts kicked into gear. His small body wanted a shelter, his little hands wanted stronger fingers to hold on to. His mind reverted back almost into infancy, crying out for the first person he had imprinted upon, whom he knew was omnipotent and invincible, and who would protect him against any and all danger.

_"Kaachan! Kaachan, Kaachan!" _His screams were hoarse, and grated on his own ears. He stopped, shocked at the alien sound erupting from his lips. His body shivered uncontrollably, and he cried without knowing it, gasping and whimpering with the sounds of a newborn kit.

Where was Kaachan? Why did she not come when he called? Where were Touchan, and Haru-nii, and 'Kuya-nii? Where were they, who were always supposed to be there? _Always, always, always…!_

_But they're not._

Crimson blood flashed behind his closed eyelids, shining an eerie brown in the light-voided darkness. Gunshots sounded in his ears, yells and curses shook his tiny frame. People were running, terror was manifesting everywhere as chaos took its reign. Someone grabbed him, lifted him up to run, and he caught a scent that penetrated his stunned brain.

_Milk._

_… Kaachan?_

_Wind rushed past his face, numbing his skin and stinging his eyes. Sticky liquid dripped onto his nose and lips, and his tongue darted out in curiosity. It was almost sweet, almost pleasurable, but there was something repulsive about the foreign taste, something dreadful, something…something…_

_The person carrying him stumbled and fell as the sound of thunder roared over. He was pinned under the weight, mouth filled with that strange liquid metal, knowing only of the present and neither future nor past._

_"Shinta! Shinta!"_

_The body imprisoning him smelled of sweet milk above all else. It was milk mixed with a bitter, salty scent he couldn't name. But she smelled like home. She was the picture of the warm fire and the loving hands, the soft voices and pleasant dreams._

_She was speaking to him, her familiar voice filling his ears, but he didn't want to listen, because her voice had turned strange and desperate, filled with a fire he didn't like – _

_"Shinta! Shinta!"_

_He was lifted up again, forcefully pulled out from under the body. Slung over a shoulder in a way that only his eldest brother had ever done. Why was Haru-nii running? Where were they running to? Kaachan was over there! Now Haru-nii was speaking to him, in the same tone Kaachan had, and he didn't want to listen, he didn't, he didn't…_

_"Takuya! 'Kuya, take him, take him, go –" He was transferred again. It was Kuya-nii this time, he could tell by the smaller size and the softer arms. He peered purposelessly over the shoulder he was pressed against, faintly recognizing the shadowy shape of Haru-nii getting left behind, fighting, swallowed up by moving, living shadows that swarmed and roared with the voices of earthquakes and thunder._

_Then Haru-nii was falling, doubled over, crumpling to the ground. And the shadows turned their sightless faces towards him, and they advanced. They lifted their long, thin, stiff metal arms, took aim, and – _

_"Kaachan," he whimpered to himself. "Touchan! Kaachan! Kaachan! Kaa…"_

_Red eyes. Machine eyes. Abyss for pupils. Vacuumed clear._

Xxxxx

The _ki_ came from nowhere.

Hiko paused in expressionless shock as the terrified life-force surged over him, penetrating into his skin and bones. It had no source. It had no center. It was unnatural. But he knew whose it was. For more than three weeks now it had been a constant presence around him. Laughing. Joyous. With an underlying layer of sorrow and anguish.

But where was he?

Where – ?

_Where is my son?_

The woman had waist-length hair the color of the majestic, setting sun. Her eyes were of a startlingly clear violet, and they struck through his skull, latching to his spirit, and he could not help but listen to the voice that was no voice. She spoke but few words, asking, requesting, begging.

_Where is my son? Save him. Master of the Dragons, save my little boy._

'I am,' he told her with stone cold confidence, the syllables dropping like pebbles onto a mirror-crystal lake. 'I will.'

Xxxxx

_He couldn't feel anymore. He floated beside his body, carried along by his brother, sprinting towards nowhere, with nowhere approaching fast._

_The end stared him in the face. He knew death. Knew it, but did not understand. And it scared him. Nothingness where there should be light – it scared him. He wanted to call out. He wanted to cry, to hold, to touch, to see!_

_His brother was sobbing for breath. He knew, too. Knew that nothing could outrun the night._

Don't give up, _he wanted to plead. _Kuya-nii, don't stop!

_There were words upon his ears, falling like dull knives, scratching and grating, and he blocked them out. He didn't want to hear. They were coming. He didn't want to see – _

_A warm gust of wind blew past._

_And a majestic silver dragon blocked his view, crushing the shadows to a soundless death. Its talons flashed as it reared and roared, and then Kuya-nii didn't hold him any longer. He was in a musky little library, in a grand bedroom fit for a king, in the snow, in the garden, in front of the fireplace, toasting marshmallows with a spiky-haired boy and two girls he vaguely remembered._

_The dragon looked at him, and he couldn't help but look back._

_It spoke, in a low, smooth baritone voice._

_"Kenshin."_

_Ken…shin…?_

_K…en…sh…in?_

_Ken…_

_"Shishou!"_

His eyes flew open with a harsh gasp.

Shishou would find him. Shishou was still there, still alive, and Shishou cared for him. Shishou would find him. He had to stay calm. He had promised to be a big boy and not cry. He would make Shishou proud. He would! His mind was set now. He would do everything he could to reach his goal.

Shishou was coming.

Therein laid his hope.

He had been laid against a wall, which he now gratefully leaned his back against, panting slightly, letting the sweat evaporate from where beads had collected on his brow. The room was dim, lit only by the obscured sun outside a single window, located up near the ceiling, high enough to dissuade any attempt to escape through it to freedom beyond. The walls themselves had long ago been painted light gray, the color of dust, and the aging paint peeled away at the corners, and bore web-like cracks along its length. His nose picked up a musky, dank odor clouding the air, smelling suspiciously like human urine. The small, rectangular room was unfurnished, and he was the sole occupant.

He wondered briefly if the door on the adjacent wall was unlocked, but decided that it would do him no good to test it. Even if it was, he doubted his fading strength's ability to carry him to safety. His last meal had been breakfast earlier that day – or perhaps it was yesterday, or the day before that – he really had no way to tell.

_Am I going to die here?_ The thought suddenly flitted through his mind. His respect for life was rare for a child his age, but the fragility and worth of existence had been drilled into his head ever since he had left his mother's nourishing womb. His body had always known the painful bite of hunger, and his hands had tended to weak and dying plants, trying to keep their flame alive against the world's bitter winds. Those around him had modeled the attitude he ought to possess: relentlessly fighting for the right to live, inexorably marching on in this world until the feet could march no more, because each second on earth was a second with a value, a second that could change a life, that could add meaning to this chaotic universe. His principles were instilled not in words, but in feelings and emotions. He couldn't tell you why he hated to see death so much, or why he loved the life of the garden, but those values had been printed onto his psych in wordless melodies.

Those words he hadn't wanted to hear from the lips of his dying family had been filled with desperation and death. _"Live, Shinta."_ Those were the dying words of his mother and brothers, of the young women who had sheltered him after his family had gone and been like sisters to him, of those nearest to him who had all been killed by forces he could not understand. Even though they had come to him and gone from him at different times, they had all echoed each other in their request. _"Live, Shinta. Live for me."_ Because their lives had been ended in exchange for his own, and all the weight of their being was piled, invested, into his young body, in the belief that he was meant to grow and live and experience and _be._

The boy could not realize now how much his fragile life was worth. But some innate instinct told him that his existence, which had been brought at the price of so much blood, could not be wasted here. His life was not his to lose. And much later, he would come to know that the reason laid in the fact that his life had been paid for by love and sorrow, by joy and pain, and was meant to strengthen and grow and shelter others on this path.

_I can't die here!_ Only that much was certain. Shishou had given him the tools for survival. Those dead had given him the reason, though not yet completely formed in his young mind. His life was not just his. He lived for countless others. His blood rushed fiercely through his veins and muscles, and for brief moments his eyes flashed with amber.

Whoever had brought him here could not keep him here.

_Whoever spilled his blood would have to pay. _

These words he hadn't conjured floated through his mind as shooting stars blazed through an inky night sky.

Somewhere miles away, Hiko looked up fiercely at the grey, defiant sky, clenching his fists around the hilt of the old sword that hung at his waist, and gave that oath to the universe, to the lady with the sun-dyed hair, swearing it on his sword and soul.

_Whoever spilled his blood would have to pay._

xxxxx

It was nearly midnight when the knocking brought Hiko to his door to find a dripping wet Okita shivering on his front steps.

"I forgot my keys," the shorter man snapped impatiently to Hiko's unspoken inquiry. "I'm still mad at you, by the way, but I'll forget about that until after this is over. Have the police gotten any word? Of course they haven't, no doubt they aren't even trying out in this accursed rain. Give me something warm, will you, before I catch hypothermia? I have news."

Hiko rolled his eyes behind the ranting man's back. Okita was the only person he knew who didn't need a partner for a conversation, somehow managing to accurately guess exactly what the responses would be. It worked fine with him though; Hiko didn't enjoy talking anymore than Okita enjoyed waiting.

Okita downed three gulps of the silently offered drink before his brain decided to inform his tongue that the liquid was scalding hot. He gasped and sputtered, nearly dropping the mug on the floor, stretching his tongue out and panting like a dog. "I said get me something 'warm!' Warm, not boiling!"

"Quit complaining," the big man grunted, sitting down at the dining table. "Just because you've forgotten to be mad at me, doesn't mean I've forgotten to be mad at you. No one is allowed to hang up on me."

"You hang up on _me_ all the time!"

"Didn't you say you had news? Or are you just here to throw hot oil on the fire?"

"Oh, you – !" Okita swallowed, struggling to find an appropriate word to complete his sentence, and failing.

Silence reigned for a few moments, before Okita sighed in resignation, knowing it was a battle he couldn't win. It was like trying to smash a mountain down with a child's inflatable toy hammer. "Alright, this isn't working. Look, let's just try to get along for now. We can hate each other as usual when this is over."

Hiko replied with a nonchalant shrug.

Knowing that was the best he would get, Okita took out the waterproof bag he had hidden inside his thin jacket. "Now don't get mad," he began, which was, of course, just another way of telling Hiko that he was _about_ to get mad, "but I installed some cameras around the place two hours after you told me not to."

His hand moved like lightning to cover his friend's mouth as it opened to explode. "Wait! But you have to admit it paid off, because it caught the whole thing on tape. You can watch it yourself." Assured that Hiko wasn't going to yell or take his head off, he removed his hand and pushed the tape across the table.

Hiko picked up the little black cassette, taking it out from the bag and holding it almost meditatively in his hands.

"Who did it?" he asked at last, voice tight with anger and frustration. Anger at those who dared to take a child under his protection. Frustration at his own inability to have stopped it.

"Seta Sōjiro and Sadojima Hōji."

Hiko's head snapped up at the names, meeting Okita's dark eyes that reflected the same feelings as his own.

"Juppongatana?" he whispered in silent fury. "What do they want with Kenshin?"

" 'The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children,'" Okita quoted almost emotionlessly, the nails of his fisted hand digging into his palm until they nearly drew blood. "I found these records on-line." He drew out another bag and tossed it onto the table next to the first.

Hiko drew them over, and hastily scanned through the small stack of documents, eyes hardening as he went.

"Call the police in," he said at last, straightening up. "Get some paramedics ready. If I'm not back by dawn…"

"I'll find you," Okita finished for him.

Hiko gave a ghost of a nod, already heading for the door. He stopped abruptly a few steps later, as if having forgot something. "Okita!" he said gruffly without turning around, voice low and rumbling. "You're impossible to hate."

The smaller man smiled, knowing this was as close to an apology as he would ever get from the swords-master.

"You're not," he replied, a mischievous twinkle back in his eyes. "But I'll manage."

Xxxxx

The door opened quite without warning, and Kenshin jumped before berating himself for his lack of awareness. His body scrambled to get into some sort of a fighting stance, but his coordination had not yet come back to him, and he somehow ended up tripping and sprawling onto the floor in an ungainly heap.

"Whoa," a soft voice said, somewhere above his head. "Sorry 'bout that. Did I scare ya?"

Kenshin stopped that the faintly, strangely familiar voice. He looked up into a pair of chocolate brown eyes, set on a baby-round face and contrasted against beautifully tanned skin that marked the boy as a foreigner. Dark hair flopped raggedly against his forehead, tickling the eyelids. He was clad in a dirty t-shirt that was falling apart at the seams, and a pair of jeans that hadn't been new for a long time. He held a small paper bag in one hand, grasping the handle with dirty fingers.

"You're the one from before!" Kenshin realized with a start, remembering now the first time he'd woken up here, and that warm hand which had lulled him back to blissful sleep.

"Yeah," the boy grinned widely. He couldn't have been much older than Kaoru or Sano, though he was thin and scrawny, making him look smaller than he ought to have been. He kneeled down to help Kenshin back into a sitting position. "Ya feelin' better?" he asked in his charmingly accented Japanese.

Kenshin smiled and nodded, feeling foolish far having gotten excited over nothing. "Uh-huh. Thank you for that…earlier."

"'s nothin'. We gotta look out fo' each otha, right? Here. I got'ya some food." He offered the bag to the smaller boy.

"From where?"

"Doesn't matter. 'S okay stuff. I already had some." He plopped down next the Kenshin, brushing the hair absently from his eyes. "I'm Mattie, by t'way. 'S short fo' Mathias."

"Ma-sh-ai-s?" Kenshin frowned, trying to twist his tongue around the foreign sounds, causing the other boy to giggle at the results. "Neve' mind," the older boy said between chuckles. "'Mattie' 's okay."

"Mattie," Kenshin repeated, before solemnly holding out his hand as Shishou had taught him. "It's nice to meet you. I –"

He paused, suddenly confused about his name. He had accepted the title Shishou had gifted unto him. It had been his identity for many days now. But there was something – something he couldn't place –

"I'm Shinta," he whispered, tasting his old name like a favorite treat. "Himura Shinta."

"Shinta? Well, that's simple 'nough. Ya gotta eat, Shin-chan, b'fore ya collapse from hunger. Dig'n, huh?"

The redhead nodded a bit shyly, pleasantly surprised by the warm use of his name, and dug into the bag, producing an apple, a bottle of water, and a sandwich with one bite missing. Mattie glanced at the sandwich sheepishly, scratching his head as he explained that he'd forgotten he had to share for a moment, and had taken the bite before he realized what he was doing. "'Sorry 'bout that. 'S just that they don't gimme good bread wit' real meat of'en."

The younger boy laughed, and split the sandwich roughly down the middle, offering half to his companion, who was eventually persuaded to take it.

"Do you know why we're here?" Kenshin asked quietly as they ate, briefly wondering if Shishou was looking for him right now. He wished there was someway to let the man know where he was. If Shishou were here, there'd be nothing to be afraid of. Every shadow would run from the sliver light of his flashing blade.

Mattie shook his head, pausing to swallow before his answered. "Couldn't tell ya why _you're_ here, at any rate. Me, I'm prob'ly here 'cause 'a my parents, see? M' dad was Italian, and he was transfe'd here b'fore he was fired. And he got nowhere ta go, so he stuck 'round. Then he found m' ma, see? 'Cept he didn't know she was a gangman's daughter, and that he'd married inta a huge gang family. There's rivalry between gangs, and my pa'ents were killed a while back. 'N 'bout a month ago, these people came and caught me and a bunch'a my friends 'n took me here, sayin' somethin' 'bout revenge and such."

Kenshin was startled by the lack of sorrow Mattie displayed during this story. "Aren't you sad at all about your parents?" he asked in bewilderment. "Nah," Mattie answered, trying to appear solemn but clearly lacking the experience to do so skillfully and convincingly. "Didn't really know'em that well. Can't miss someone ya never knew. I was raised up b' other members 'o my gang – my friends. They were mostly Italian too. 'S why I can't get rid o' this accent." He paused to gaze critically at his younger companion. "Ya alright wit' that? It doe'n't bother ya much? 'S not like I don't wan'ta feel bad, 's just that I _can't_. If one'o' my friends were ta die, I'd feel bad, ya see, Shin-chan?"

"I see," Kenshin answered. "I understand."

And he _did_ understand. Mattie loved his parents. Only his parents did not give birth to him. His parents were the friends around him.

Looking back, he would come to grasp that Mattie lived for those who had given to him, just as he did. Perhaps that was where the strength of a human laid. In the meaning given them by those who first showed them life. In the friends and family who built one up, and in those weaker than oneself, whose path was dependent on one's own.

But that was a later date, somewhere beyond the horizon. In this time, in this place, Shinta smiled at the boy who reminded him so much of his brothers. Not in appearance or personality, but in the essence of being that was life.

Xxxxx

"Are you ready, Gein?" Shishio asked as the minute hand of the clocked turned on its last stretch on its march, preparing to close off the night's second hour to strike three. "The stage is yours. I hired you because you came highly recommended. Don't make yourself regret it."

"Of course," the masked man answered with a cold, lustful smile. "The stage is mine, the pleasure is mine. Make sure your servants stand out of the way."

"They know their place. As you do yours."

Five minutes later, the door to that little holding cell burst open, knocked off its hinges by two burly bodyguards. Under Gein's gleeful eyes, the two children were pinned down and snatched up by their collars, one carried off to the play he'd worked tirelessly to create, the other tossed back inside carelessly without a second glance as the door slammed shut between them.

xxxxx

They stopped in a little room, dark until Gein turned on two stage lights, their beams hitting the walls and spreading over the surfaces.

Kenshin, having been set on his feet by his captor, his exit blocked by three hundred pounds of solid muscle, found himself looking at a terribly familiar picture.

"Speechless, child?" the man called Gein asked in a hissing voice. "Does my art impress you? Isn't it amazing how dead flesh and bones could stay so well preserved when done correctly?"

The dead bodies of his family had been pieced and grafted back together, and were arranged carefully and painstakingly in the small room designed to look just like the living room of the farm house he had been born in. His mother's corpse sat in the old rocking chair in front of the fire, knitting in hand. His father knelt on the floor, about to make an addition to the growing pile of wood shavings his carving knife had produced in creating a small wooden toy. The body of the younger of his two brothers sat next to his father, watching in frozen attentiveness at his father's handiwork. His eldest brother was relaxing next to his mother, back resting against the old chair.

And there was a small blanket on the floor, a place between his two brothers. That was his place. That was where he should have been.

How long had they been here? How long had they been waiting, in suspended animation, lifeless, still bodies posed in a scene captured by an artist of madness?

"They've been alone in here a long time," Gein whispered sadistically into his ear. "They've been getting lonely. But not to worry. They'll be getting new friends soon enough.

"I don't enjoy working with real flesh and bones, you know. My dolls are so much prettier. They don't bleed and fuss, they don't need care every minute. And best of all, a doll will never disappear into brittle bones if you let it be for a few months. But these are Shishio's orders, and his requests are not unreasonable. My organic art is every bit as skilled as my inorganic ones. Wouldn't you like to see a master at work, boy? It's the opportunity of a lifetime."

The masked man twitched his fingers. Shinta yelped as he was caught around the waist, his feet lifting off the floor and his arms pinned to his side as he became trapped by a pair of iron hard arms. He could smell the pungent odor of the guard whose body he was crushed against.

The redhead struggled furiously against the immovable guard, thrashing and kicking his legs for all he was worth. On a flash of instinct, he bit down on the arms keeping him prisoner, grinding his teeth together until the coppery taste of blood filled his tongue and nostrils. He gagged and spat. The guard barely glanced down.

"There's no use struggling. Their brains are my own work. They can't feel anything. You could cut them with a knife, and they would bleed to death not knowing they were hurt." Gein smiled gleefully in approval as he surveyed the two stoic guards.

"You hate seeing people hurting, don't you, boy? I will never understand that. Just as you will never understand the thrill I get watching a life slipping out of my hands, and knowing that I caused it. You'll never understand the feeling of knowing you're superior, of knowing you've created a doll out of a life, of knowing you have done the most powerful thing any human could ever do. You'll never understand. You squirm in the face of death. You will cry out in pain, fighting on for every breath, for every drop of blood. And I love that spirit." The eyes were insane eyes, crackling madly millimeters away from Kenshin's violet orbs. They were filled with a passionately hollow bloodlust so strong the boy felt as though he would fall into that bottomless abyss, swallowed into nothing forever. "I love to destroy it."

"But I can't kill you, boy. What fun that would be! Be Shishio has given me an even better game to play."

The masked man's fingers twitched once more. The second guard stepped forward, drew his sword, handed to his master, who took it and gestured for his prisoner to be set down. Shinta tumbled unceremoniously from his captor's arms to crumble in a heap on the cold floor.

Gein knelt in front of him, delighted in the stark terror and incredulous incomprehension blazing in those violet eyes. He could practically smell the wild, stale scent of old nightmares emitting from the child.

"I know you know how to use a sword, boy," the dark man hissed, pressing the hilt into the small, unresisting hand. "So I'll cut you a deal."

He closed Shinta's fist into a grip around the too-big, too-real sword.

"Kill the other boy. You don't want your family to get lonely, do you? They don't rest until that spot is filled. Kill the other boy, and you live." The venom dripping off his breath is acid, and Shinta shuts his eyes tightly, wishing he could shut his ears as well. Gein grabs his chin with fingers gloved in a rough, sand-paper like fabric, forcing the boy to face him for a brief moment before shoving him backwards.

He stood.

"Your freedom is promised to you. It's your choice to make. You have until the sun sets tomorrow night."

The room is empty now, the echoing footsteps fading as they _click-clacked_ down the hall. It's silent, but the noise is overwhelming. The buzzing in his mind, the singing of the naked blade he holds, the screaming gazes of the statues that were but a mockery of his loved ones.

He doesn't realize he's crying until the first tear splashes noisily to darken the floor.

_"Kill the boy."_

He had been taught the sword to protect. He had been given the gift to make life. He had been shown the path to secure happiness.

_Kill the boy. Kill the boy. Killkillkillkil-!_

He flings the sword against the floor, and it protests sharply. It is not his sword. It is not his! He will not use it, he will not, he can not, but he does not want to die, he wants to live, to live, to _live!_ To play in the snow and eat melted chocolate next to the fire and to play endless games of chess and speak of meaningless things just because he _can_ and fall asleep knowing he will wake up to sunlight pouring through the window warm and secure and _safe_ –

The door is wide open, no lock on the door, nothing to bar his way.

It is his choice to make.

The shaking sobs wreck his small frame, and his whimpering, desolate cries echo around the walls under the empty, lifeless gazes of his deceased family.

* * *

_Chapter revised April 6, 2008._


	7. Somehow

_PLEASE NOTE: if you are an old reader of this story, you will probably need to reread the previous chapter to aviod misunderstandings and inconsistencies. After much deliberation, I decided to rewrite the second half, and changed the plot a good deal._

_That said, please enjoy this chapter. Though it was long in coming, and though it is a bit shorter than the rest, I hope it is worth the wait. _

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

_"Somehow"_

Hiko was in no mood for wasting time. His temper was stirring inside him like a trembling volcano, itching to explode, and only years of practice kept him from jumping into a crazed whirlwind of death. He wanted to see Kenshin. He wanted the boy here _now._

Unfortunately, there were a few dozen idiots here who were furtively-yet-stubbornly determined to stop him at any cost.

Any other day, and he would have been glad for the chance to let off some steam. Even if the opponents were only half-witted men with less-than-mediocre skill behind their swords and cowardly guns. But today was not the day. He hadn't driven an hour through pouring rain for a fight. He had come for his charge. Who was nowhere in sight.

_Two minutes,_ he thought to himself with gritted teeth. _Two minutes tops._

And he lunged, cold fury spilling off his _ki_ in waves.

At the last second before contact, on a spur of the moment instinct, he flipped his blade to strike with the dull end instead. No need for his record to contain over a hundred murders.

Xxxxx

"Shishio-san? There is a swordsman outside ripping his way through our ranks," Sōjirō stated calmly to his master, who was reclining on his bed after a nice steam bath, clearly not showing any signs of moving anywhere any time soon. "I would assume he's here for the Himura boy."

Shishio glanced dispassionately at him. Just as Hiko was in no mood to wait, he was in no mood to fight today. Oh, there was no doubt he _could_, should he choose to, but there was something about the cold dampness of rain outside that made his scarred body tingle uncomfortably. A little boy's problem wasn't going to be enough to drag him out of his nice, warm room. "And where is the boy now?" he asked, though one didn't need to know him as well as Sōjirō did to tell he did not care about the answer in the slightest.

"Gein has him in the basement, I believe."

The bandage-covered man sighed, before waving him out. "You take care of it, Sō. If Gein has the boy, he's all but broken anyway."

"Very well, then, Shishio-san." And the young man bowed himself out.

Xxxxx

The master of Hiten Mitsurugi-ryuu smashed down the wooden door.

He did not care that it could have been opened with a simple twist of the knob. He was not in a knob-twisting mood right now. If he wanted to smash the door, it was damn well going to end up in splinters at his feet.

He was not in the least surprised by the presence of the person now standing in front of him, dust and broken wood strewn between them. There was something cold about the young man's _ki_ that disturbed him, though, something subtle, something _emotionless_. Something about the way his smile stopped at his lips and the way his ice blue eyes stayed glazed though they were piercing into his own.

_Seta Sōjirō._ His reputation preceded him.

"Welcome," the boy known as the _Tenken_ greeted him calmly, as though there was nothing in the least unusual about the circumstances. "I'm going to assume you've come for the young Himura."

There were so many responses Hiko could have spat out right then. So many sarcastic, venomous, disgusted replies that all tried to spew out of his lips at once, and ended up twisted into a murderous growl that nevertheless succeeded in getting his message across.

"Usually, it is not out custom to hand over any of the enemy we capture," the young man continued serenely, though his gaze grew imperceptibly sharper and his sword arm tensed ever so slightly. "The boy's father killed many of our men with his support of the _Ishin_. In our world, that makes him worthy of death."

"But I see you are not to be stopped," Sōjirō added in response to Hiko's exponentially increasing rage. "We have no desire for a fight with one we have no business with. You may take the boy."

It took all of Hiko's effort not to strike the man – the _insolent boy!_ – and silence him forever. But he needed information. Needed to know some things, because Kenshin's been gone far too long and he wasn't willing to waste a single more minute.

_"Where. Is. He."_ His voice is nothing short of a snarl.

"That, you'll have to find out on your own. You may want to hurry, though, one of my associates was assigned to him, and chances are that he's unrecoverable by now –"

He might've said more, but Hiko had finally reached the end of his fuse and exploded. All his fury and frustration he slammed behind his sword, and the young man crumbled to the floor without a single sound. Hiko had to grudgingly admire him, though: he'd been aiming for the head, but the _Tenken_ had leapt back a split moment before he landed the strike. He got the shoulder instead. Said shoulder was now severely broken and dislocated, the shattered bone cracking through the skin. The young man's head bled from where it had cracked open with the force he'd been slammed against the wall.

Hiko had to admit the _Tenken_'s reputation was not for nothing. He was the first in many generations to escape the full wrath of a Mitsurugi master alive. A shame such talent was wasted on an impudent moron.

With a sigh, the sword-master stormed down the hallway of Juppongatana headquarters to begin his search, mood growing impossibly darker when he realized that he still couldn't sense the boy's _ki._

_Where the hell is he?_

His hurried steps jerked to a stop when he found himself confronted by a choice of three directions, none looking more promising than the last. Each hall way was identical to the next: dimly lit so that he could not see the end.

With a jolt, he realized the trap he'd walked straight into.

The place was a labyrinth. And his only guide lay several meters behind him in a pool of his own blood.

Xxxxx

The first ray of the dawning sun was smoldered by the unrelenting rain. From where he stood by the window, Okita stared listlessly at the point behind the distant mountains where the sun should have risen. He would not see it today.

Hiko had promised return by dawn.

What now? Call the police? The ambulance? Surely something was up. Hiko would have returned by now if he'd found nothing. But then again, if it was a situation Hiko Seijūrō couldn't handle, Okita wasn't sure what good police would do.

Still, _something_ had to be done.

He sighed again (it was becoming a habit now), before spinning around abruptly, decision written firmly in his eyes. He could not stand here forever, and Hiko had promised by dawn. A quick stop by his house was needed. He would call the police on the way. There was something he needed to pick up.

It had been two years since he'd picked up a sword.

But Hiko had Winter Moon, the police had their guns, and he damn well wasn't going to be the only incompetent and useless annoyance around.

Xxxxx

Okita would have started the search for him by now.

The thought did nothing to sooth his raging emotions. He'd lost count of the number of turns he'd taken after thirty-one. The number of people he'd seen and been forced to take down along the way stood at sixty-six (he'd stumbled across what appeared to be a residence hall where several drinking parties had been taking place). Once, he thought he caught a flash of Kenshin's _ki_ but it disappeared down the next turn and he never found it again. All things considered, he was about ready to scream, however undignified that would be.

With nothing else to focus on, Hiko's thoughts turned to the boy he was searching for. What was Kenshin doing now? Was he scared? He must be. Did the boy know he was coming? He hoped so. Was he fighting? Did he need to fight? _Could_ he fight? Surely he'd trained the boy hard enough that the scamp could put up a half-decent fight under pressure.

What was the boy thinking right now? About his parents or about his new friends? About life or about death?

They'd better not have hurt him, he though grimly, the _Tenken_'s words flashing through his mind. Because somehow, the boy had become precious to him. Somewhere along the way, he'd learn to think of the boy as _his_ boy. Sometime in the past, he'd learned to recognize his smiles, his laughs, his voice, his tears, his actions, his reactions, his heart. His soul.

Somehow, he holds so much of him that he's afraid – if the child breaks, so might he.

When had that happened? When had Kenshin become _his_ Kenshin, _his_ apprentice, _his_ responsibility?

_When I named him_.

Yes. That was it. The moment he'd given the boy a name, it had been over. There was no fighting it. Once he thought _I must protect him,_ it was hopeless.

He turned another corner. Left this time. A man coming down the hall jerked to a halt at his sudden appearance, started to raised an alarm. Hiko has sensed him five meters back, however, and in a breath and a whirl of steel, he was lying sprawled on the floor, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling with eyes half rolled back.

Hiko wiped his blade grimly, eying the end of the hallway. Left or right?

A door behind him creaked open.

He spun around, _ki_ flaring, cursing himself for his clumsy oversight. Getting sloppy at this point in the game was flat-out inexcusable. He prepared for a strike, but something made him pause. There was no hostility in the air, only a weariness, a worried curiosity.

A young boy peeked out from behind the door to stare up at him, no doubt drawn out by the sound of the scuffle a moment earlier. They locked eyes briefly before the child looked to the outstretched blade in the man's grip. Recognition dawned in his brown eyes, and when he looked up again it was with a wide smile.

"Ya're Shin-chan's Shishou-san."

_Shin-chan. Shinta. Kenshin._

"Where is he?" Hiko rasped out, restraining the urge to pick up the child and shake the information out of him. "Where is the boy?"

"I think t' basement, Shishou-san. That's where Gein takes all his pris'ners. I'll show ya t' way, Shishou-san."

The little foreign boy came up boldly and took his free hand, tugging him down the hall the way he'd just come. But he took a right where Hiko had chosen left.

"He told me 'bout ya, ya know, said he knew ya'd come f' 'im. 'M glad ya did. He was scared."

_So he did know I was coming._

_Good._

Somehow, that made him feel much better. Like now they had a fighting chance.

Xxxx

They found the wounded men first. Each in various stages of wakefulness, those who had regained their senses were too beaten to even stand. Injuries ranged from concussions to broken legs to smashed ribs. One man had his spine completely bent at a forty-five degree angle. Sideways.

Okita couldn't help but whistle. A master was a master, but few masters were Hiko Seijūrō.

Next they found the demolished door, and beyond that, the puddle of half-dried blood. The person who shed it was nowhere in sight.

"What next?" Okita wondered out loud. The police chief next to him pointed down the dimly-lit hallway, before turning and ordering several men to station themselves as outlooks. The paramedics called in were attending to the injured with the police standing by to stop any attempted escapes. They could do nothing about the foul mouths of those who were awake or waking up, though. The curses sailing through the air would've made a sailor blush.

Okita made his way down the hall with the chief by his side and two squads of men behind them. Far too soon they found the three-way fork Hiko had come to hours earlier.

"Wonderful. Just what we needed," the young advisor grumbled humorlessly, at last realizing why it was taking Hiko so long. The place must be an entire underground maze. Leave it to the Juppongatana to build something so ridiculous.

"Alright, who's got a coin we can flip?"

Xxxx

_He's here._

Hiko felt a thrill when he turned the corner and finally, finally touched the edge of Kenshin's _ki_. It was definite this time, growing stronger with each hurried stride he took. The boy called Mattie jog along beside him, nearly having to run to keep up with the huge man more than three times his size. "No much longer now, Shishou-san, just down here…" But he didn't need to boy to say it to know. Kenshin's presence was unmistakably here, _alive._

_"The chances are that he's unrecoverable by now."_

The _Tenken_'s words came back once more, and Hiko realized something. Kenshin was alive, yes, but there was something bout his _ki_, something he didn't like, something shrinking and musky. Something that resembled death.

_What have they done to you?_

He refused to believe that there was anything he couldn't pull the boy through. As long as he lived, was that not enough? As long as he was alive, wishes could keep being made. As long as he breathed, there could still be learning and growing and maturing. As long as the boy lived, there could be redemption and salvation. Was that not enough? It had to be. It _must_.

They rounded the final corner.

Xxxxx

He kicked the door down.

Never mind the fact that there had been a knob. He didn't feel like using a knob.

Okita would've laughed if he'd known that Hiko had had the exact same thoughts only hours before.

The air was clouded with steam. Coming, he saw, from the hot steam bath in the middle. It appeared to be a bedroom of sorts, or someone's private chambers. He thought it was empty at first, before a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"It's rude to enter without knocking. Ruder still to enter by violently breaking in."

Okita looked up and froze. He could feel the men beside and behind him tense as well.

Bandages from head to toe. Lips charred black. Smoldering, vortex eyes. Serrated blade unsheathed in one hand, a machine gun in the other.

Shit.

He'd walked straight into the lair of one of the most dangerous man in the country.

_You'd better get out of here safe, Hiko-kun, and take Kenshin-chan with you. I refuse to believe I'm doing this in vain._

It's been two years since he's drawn a blade. The thrill of battle hasn't changed. But it wasn't a friendly game anymore. Adrenaline flooded his system as he dropped easily into the stance his body remembered better than he did. This is between life and death, with a paper-width of thickness in between.

The policemen with him cocked their guns. The chief started speaking to Shishio Matoko, about his arrest, his rights, but he never got past the first few words.

The backdoor to the room opened, and the men Shishio must have called poured silently in. In an instant, they'd gone from a twenty-against-one favor to a three-to-one disadvantage.

_Let's dance._

He drew.

Xxxxx

The flickers from the embers of the crackling fire cast an eerie light over the small room. The shadows danced their patternless dance over the walls and the floor, defying the laws of nature in their leaps and twists.

There was the woman with the sunset-hair.

Except it wasn't. The woman who'd come to him had been vibrant with life, emitting an energy so strong he would've thought her living. This was only a shell, a husk, a crude game of make-belief.

It was Mattie who took his attention away from the frozen play on the stage of the master puppeteer. The boy tugged sharply at his hand, and pointed left to the darkest corner of the room when he turned to look down. Hiko followed his finger, and his eyes found the small form huddled up against colorless walls. There was a plain-looking sword on the ground a few feet away, but he paid it no mind.

_Unrecoverable._

Yes, he understood now, caught on to their malicious game. They did not kill the boy. They aimed to break his spirit. They meant to crush him into so many pieces that no one could ever pick them up, put him together again.

But there was something they didn't take into account. They didn't understand the strength of will that had led him to apprentice the boy in the first place, the strength that the boy's mother had passed on to him. They didn't see why he had named the boy _Kenshin._ They didn't grasp that the boy hadn't lost everything, that there was still _hope_, and as long as there was _hope_ then there would be _healing_. He almost smiled. Broken pieces of glass could always be melted back together into something even stronger, more beautiful.

He left Mattie by the door. Four strides took him where he needed to be.

All the anger and rage he'd been harboring and nursing for the past few hours flared up in an explosion, then suddenly fled. He was left drained and uncertain. While he'd been searching, there'd been a goal. Now that he was here, he realized he had no idea how to proceed.

He knelt, and felt clumsy for the first time since the day he'd picked up a sword as a child. The boy did not look up.

"Kenshin."

At the sound of his voice, the boy stirred a little. Very, very slowly, violet eyes peered up at him. Unfocused. Uncertain. There was a flicker of recognition, but that was all he got. The boy did not seem to realize he was real, because he dropped his head again.

Whatever reaction Hiko might've been expecting, this wasn't it. Was that all? Not even a "Hello, Shishou. Thank you for coming to get me"? Yes, he realized it sounded stupid, but didn't he at least deserve that much? All of a sudden, he felt annoyed.

_"Kenshin_, you little _baka deshi_, look up!"

The boy jerked as though he'd been struck. Startled eyes looked at the sword-master as though seeing him for the first time, and his face paled. A timid hand reached out, stretching tentatively toward him, pausing before his shoulder, wavering, fearful. With a newfound determination, Hiko grabbed the trembling hand firmly, gently, understanding the need to prove he was real, that it was not a dream, a wistful imagination. "What, is this all the thanks I get after coming all the way over here to get you? Ungrateful _deshi_!"

Kenshin stared up at him, lips trembling, eyes wide with shock. Then he melted, fell forward into Hiko's strong arms and buried himself in the fabric of the man's shirt. He clung so hard his knuckles turned white, shook so hard that Hiko began to fear he'd literally fall apart. The child began to speak so rapidly that it was only half comprehensible, the other half coming out as senseless babble. Amidst a torrent of tears and words, Hiko caught one word over and over. _Kill._ Another several minutes, and he'd managed to piece together the story. The wave after wave of emotions from the child was overwhelming. Fear, confusion, despair, anger, swirling within such a small body. The child was nearing hysteria, and Hiko couldn't blame him. He could only imagine what it must have been like for the boy these past hours, sitting in a scene straight out from a nightmare, with nothing he could do to make things right again.

"Kenshin. Kenshin. Calm down, it's alright." He rocked the child gently as he'd learned to do in the days when Kenshin woke with nightmares. "I'm here. I came. They have no power over you. They cannot make you do anything. That sword is not your sword. Yours is back home where you left it after practice. Yours is the sword of life. That is not your sword. You will never have to use it."

The boy managed to nod his understanding, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"And Kenshin. That is not your family. Those are only dolls. Do you remember your mother? The women with the shining red hair and the bright eyes. That is not her, Kenshin. Close your eyes. Do you see her? There she is, and no one can take her away from you. Do you know the difference, Kenshin? You have the real thing. All they can ever make are dolls."

He paused as the child's sobs quieted to sniffles, as the spasms wrecking his body subdued to trembling. Laying a hand on the boy's head, he ran fingers through the bright red hair he now knew came from the boy's mother.

"Kenshin," he said softly, and the boy instinctively looked up at him, his eyes red from crying, his face stained with tears. But Hiko caught the determined set in his expression and the promise that he would recover despite all odds, and thought he'd never been more beautiful than now.

"You did well, _baka deshi._ You made it. Well done."

* * *

_Ah, inspiration. Once it strikes, it's over. I did in two days what I couldn't do in the past year. I am very proud of the last line, but if the rest seems rushed or if there are mistakes you see, please let me know. There should only be a chapter left now, maybe two. Thanks for your continual support! _

_Please leave a review!_


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